


I Don't Want To Say Goodnight

by PaperMaShea



Series: I Don't Want To Say Goodnight [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Flirting, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Gay Keith (Voltron), Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Kissing, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, Lance is a precious bean, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Keith (Voltron), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Theyre so adorable help, Underage Drinking, cursing, fangirl au, implied shallura, klance, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:51:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperMaShea/pseuds/PaperMaShea
Summary: It's Keith's first year of college, and his new roomate has a cute friend. Adorableness and awkwardness ensues.





	1. "A Brand New Start"

It was Keith's first year of college.

Since his foster parents had never given him a single thing in his life, he had spent a year and a half working just about anywhere in order to save up, and now he was finally here. Walking on campus, he felt like he was pretending to be a student in a dumb coming-of-age movie. It was all so stereotypical: the trees, the classical Greco-Roman style buildings, kids with backpacks sitting on rolling green lawns. _Look at me_ , he thought, _I'm a stock photo of a college student._

He shifted the box he was holding in his hands and checked the slip of paper he had been keeping in his jacket pocket: Carnegie Hall, 2nd floor, Room 316. Keith had no idea where he was or where his dorm building was located, but he sure as hell wasn't about to ask someone for help, so he wandered around until he finally stumbled upon his dorm building. He stepped inside and waited for the elevator along with a few others. The doors opened with a ding, and everyone scrambled inside. It reached floor number two with a lurch, and he walked out into the hall.

It was chaos. Both guys and girls (he had opted for a coed dorm) flooded the halls, carrying boxes or books. A few parents were even there, helping their kids move in. He looked down at the slip of paper again, even though he had it memorized. A strand of black hair that had come loose from his ponytail fell in his eyes as he took a deep breath and tried to squash the knot that had been growing in his stomach. He was _not_ looking forward to having a roommate. He initially wanted to rent a studio apartment, so he didn't have to worry about living with freaky stranger who would probably use his razor and smell like salad dressing, but it was way too expensive, so he had to settle for living in a dorm. He maneuvered down the hallway, trying not to mow anybody down with his giant box of stuff, until he finally reached what he had been dreading: A wooden door with gold-painted numbers: 316. He swung the door open cautiously. The room looked like a hospital room: beige walls and a depressing window with blinds. On the right side of the room the bed was already made, with green office supplies and what looked like a bunch of scrap metal littering the desk next to it. Keith realized someone was sitting on the green bedcover, but he could only see a mess of auburn hair hunched over a laptop.

"Um. . ." Keith shifted uncomfortably as he stood in the doorway. A face popped up from behind the computer.

"Hiya!" A boy (or a girl? Keith wasn't sure. _Keith knew he chose a coed_ _dorm_ , _but were there such a thing as coed rooms?_ ) with big, round glasses was looking up at Keith, a smile on their face.

Keith realized he was scowling and tried a smile. "Uh, hi."

"I'm Pidge," Pidge said, adjusting their glasses. "Pidge Gunderson. My pronouns are "they", just so you know. Oh, do you need help with that?"

"I'm good," Keith said, walking in and plopping his stuff on the other bed. He blew the ever-annoying strand of hair out of his eyes and sat down on his new bed.

"Have you seen the food court? Its _insane._ Trays and trays of pizza, and ice cream, and macaroni and pasta and hey-- What classes are you taking? Are you a freshman? I'm a freshman," they rambled, eyes transifixed on their computer.

"Yeah. . . You look a little young to be in college."

"I am. I'm seventeen, but I graduated early and transferred here for the robotics program. . . You look a little old to be a freshman."

Keith nodded. "Yeah, I, uh, had to work for a while."

Pidge nodded, eyes still on their laptop. They flung their arms up in the air suddenly, cursing. "Jeez, the WiFi sucks in this room. I'm gonna go out in the lounge and see if it'll work."

They got up, gathered their computer, and swung open the door, leaving it open behind them.

Keith let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

_Okay_ , Keith thought, _so they're not a weirdo, thank god, and judging by the lack of stubble they won't be needing my razor anytime soon._ Keith sat up and looked out the window. They had a good view of the campus, and the red and gold of the turning trees looked especially bright from far away.

It felt good to unpack a bit.

He set his sheets on the bed and placed the huge stack of his ridiculously expensive books on his desk with a heavy _thud_. Keith looked over at Pidge's side of the room, which was already decorated and filled with pictures of them with their family and friends, and felt a momentary pang in his chest, suddenly sad he didn't have any pictures to put up on his walls. He realized he didn't really have much belongings, either, especially compared to Pidge's side of the room. Keith had brought a box of his favorite books, a couple of outfits, a lamp, his laptop, two posters, and that was basically it. When he found out that he had made it into the university, he had basically just stuffed everything he could into a couple cardboard boxes and hit the road. He would've done anything, gone _anywhere_ to get out of that town, away from his foster parents. And now, after months of sleeping in motels and working double, sometimes triple shifts, he was here. And although he barely had any belongings, no friends, and no idea what he was doing, he was finally starting to distance himself from all he wanted to forget. He was finally moving on. And sure, it wasn't perfect, but at least his roommate was normal (enough), his dorm room wasn't too cramped, and he had a comfortable bed. Maybe this would be a good thing after all. A brand new start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> This is basically a Fangirl AU. Fangirl is a novel that was written by Rainbow Rowell, and I highly recommend it! I use some of it's plot points and major scenes for this fic.  
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading!


	2. "The Boy"

Keith froze in the doorway, his back nearly breaking due to all of the books he was carrying. There was a boy in Keith's room.

"Who the hell are you?" Keith asked. It came out ruder than he meant it.

The boy was sitting at Pidges work desk, spinning around in the swivel chair. The boy stuck out his foot and stopped it, and Keith could really see his face now. He was attractive; olive skin, messy brown hair, and an upturned nose.

"Who are _you_?" He asked, a small smile on his lips.

Keith narrowed his eyes. "I asked you first."

He narrowed his eyes back. They were blue. Too blue.

"I asked you second," the boy said, a grin spreading on his face, revealing bright white teeth.

Keith rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this. "Keith."

"The name's Lance," he said, standing up and practically stumbling to where Keith was standing in the doorway.

He was tall, Keith realized, and lanky, but still muscular, and was wearing a blue tshirt and a green bomber jacket. He held out his hand, grinning. Keith ignored it. (His arms were chin-high with books anyway, what did he expect Keith to do?). Lance pulled his hand back, still grinning.

"Would you mind telling me why you're in my room?" Keith asked bluntly, stepping inside.

"Right, sorry," he laughed, scratching the back of his head. "I'm Pidge's friend, I'm just waiting for them to get back from class."

 Keith set his books down on his desk with a loud thunk and massaged his bicep, which was sore from the weight. He needed to invest in a backpack.

"So, you're a freshman?"

Keith inwardly groaned. He didn't really feel like talking. Keith's day had consisted of awkward conversations, getting lost on campus, and arriving late to his sociology class. He was tired, even though it was only 4 pm. What he needed right now was just some peace and quiet.

"Yep," Keith said flatly. Keith turned away from him, took off his jacket and threw it on his bed.

"Did you find all your classes?"

Keith turned to look at him, scowling. He was still grinning. Why was he trying to talk to him? They weren't friends. Keith was hardly even friends with Pidge. He turned away from him again and pretended to be interested in one of his books, flipping through the pages.

"Yep," Keith lied. He couldn't find his astronomy class, which was dissapointing, because that was the class he had been most looking forward to. He'd have to find a map or something.

"Hey, we're gonna go get burgers if you want to come." Keith turned around, a hand on his hip, doing everything in his power not to just flat out tell him to leave. Keith frowned, but Lance just kept talking, a grin on his face. "They are _the best_ burgers you will ever have. Have you been to Bugsy's yet? Burgers the size of your fist." Lance grabbed Keith's wrist and held up his arm. Keith swallowed.

"Make a fist." He did.

" _Bigger_  than your fist," Lance grinned, raising his eyebrows and dropping Keiths hand.

There was a the clicking of keys at the door, and it swung open.

"Pidge!" Lance's grin grew wider, if that was even possible.

"Hey Lance," Pidge said, shutting the door with their foot. Their eyes went from Keith to Lance and then back to Keith. "Oh my god, I am so sorry you were left alone with him."

Lance pushed Pidge gently, offended. " _Hey!_ "

Pidge snickered, throwing their backpack on their bed.

"Burgers?" Pidge asked, making finger guns at Lance, who immediately made finger guns back.

" _Holy yes_ , burgers." Lance turned his finger guns to Keith, wiggling his eyebrows. "Coming?"

Keith shook his head and Lance shrugged.

"Hasta-la-later, Keith," Lance saluted as he shut the door behind them. Keith sighed in relief, sitting on his bed and letting his head rest on the beige wall. He tried to ignore the fact that he was close to melting down, and shoved all his anxiety back to his stomach where it belonged-- where he could at least tie it into a nice knot and work around it. He dug through the box on his bed and unpacked his bedside lamp and alarm clock, and pinned up his "I WANT TO BELIEVE" ufo poster and his "Protect Your Local Mothman" poster. It was starting to feel more homey already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to post the next chapter by Thursday.  
> Feel free to ask me anything or put in suggestions; my Tumblr is PaperMacheSandwich, but I will probably reply faster on ao3.  
> Thanks for reading! :)


	3. "The Lance Flair"

It was a cold, crisp morning. Not icy, not freezing, but just goddamn cold. He was positive his nose and cheeks were bright red from the brisk air, and he silently cursed that he didn't bring anything warmer than his red sweatshirt and his black jean jacket.

  
Pidge and him had become better friends over the past week of living together, especially after Pidge saw the posters hanging above his bed. They had spent almost an entire night watching _The_   _X-Files_ and talking about conspiracy theories.  
Keith had never had anyone to "geek-out" with before, so it was just an extra added bonus that his roommate was a believer in the extraterrestrial.

  
This morning, Keith had woken up early from a nightmare, and he still had two hours until his first class, so he had decided to roam the campus-- a decision that seemed less and less desirable with ever passing second. In the ten minutes he had been walking around, he'd already had three awkward interactions with strangers, tripped twice, and was close to freezing.  
Pidge had told him there was a Starbucks in a small shopping center near campus, and judging by the obvious bags under Keith's eyes and red nose and hands, some hot coffee was exactly what he needed right now.

  
He finally spotted it, and he crossed the street, stomach growling.

  
He stepped inside, thankful for the warmth of the familiar coffee shop, and stepped into line behind a man that looked like a retired gym teacher. He went on his tiptoes and peered at the menu.

  
_Wait a second_ \-- Keith narrowed his eyes to look behind the counter.

  
_Shit_.

  
There was Lance, dressed in a black tshirt and green Starbucks apron, moving behind the espresso machine, smiling at something one of his coworkers said.

  
_Shit shit shit shit_.

  
Keith tried turning around to leave, but nearly bumped into a grumpy-looking middle aged woman in a suit and spiky heels, who grimaced down at him. She probably hated it when homeless-looking kids bumped into her Prada handbag. "Oh, uh sorry," Keith said, turning back around and shifting awkwardly back into his spot in line.

  
Three people were already in line in back of him, and the man in front of him was paying for his order, so he knew he couldn't leave now. He could feel the little knot forming in his stomach, and he pushed it back down again. He just hoped Lance hadn't seen him.

  
"Can I help you?" the guy at the register asked as Keith approached the counter.

  
"No, you _cannot_ ," Lance said, pushing the guy down the line then turning to Keith, grinning. "Keith."

  
"Hi," Keith said, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

  
"Did you stop by just to say hi?" Lance raised an eyebrow.

"Don't flatter yourself," Keith smirked, "I didn't even know you worked here. I came for coffee."

  
"What kind?" Lance smiled.

  
"Um. . ." Keith realized he hadn't really looked at the menu. "Just a coffee. Grande coffee."

  
Lance shook his head vehemently. " _No heckin' way,_ Keith. Let me make you something good."

  
Keith just shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Okay. . . how about a vanilla latte. Soymilk?"

  
"Much better," Lance grinned. "But I'm going to put a little Lance flair into it."

  
"Please don't."

  
"Just trust me, Keith. I'm the coffee king."

Keith rolled his eyes. "If you say so," Keith shrugged.

  
Lance grabbed a cup, wrote something on it, then started pumping syrup into it. Keith waited behind the coffee maker, bouncing on his heels.

  
"You should go out with us tonight," Lance smiled, moving over to the espresso machine. "We're gonna go to O'Neal's Bar. They have the best-- _the best_ \-- onion rings on the planet."

  
Keith shook his head as the espresso machine made a hissing noise.

  
"No thanks. I've got a big history test tomorrow," he fibbed. Honestly, he wasn't so sure he could handle a bar full of loud, drunk people when he could barely stand being in a slightly crowded Starbucks.

  
"Bummer," Lance said. The weird thing was that he actually sounded like he meant it.  
Lance handed Keith his drink, smiling. "Well, I hope you change your mind."

  
Keith took the cup and breathed it in. It smelled amazing. Like spices and cinnamon and Christmas and all the happy things he never had as a kid. "What did you put in this?"

  
Lance grinned. "That's the Lance flair. Secret recipe."

  
"Seriously, what is it?"

  
"Nutmeg, cinnamon, and allspice," Lance listed off on his fingers.

  
"It smells good."

  
"Thanks," Lance said. "Well, good luck on your test," he grinned, giving him a small salute.

  
"Wait, I haven't paid yet."

  
He held up his hands. " _Please_. You insult me."

  
"Thanks," Keith blushed.

  
Lance grinned at him again, bright white teeth shining, and winked.

  
And Keith took a big step backwards into a huge shelf of mugs.

"Bye," Keith said.

  
"Bye, Keith." He waved again, still smiling, and moved on to the next customer.

  
Keith stepped out the door, feeling jittery, even though he hadn't even had a sip of his coffee yet.  
He looked down at his white coffee cup: written on it was Keith's name in swirly lettering, with a little drawing of a cat.  
Keith smiled to himself. He suddenly felt warmer, even in the bitter cold September air.

 


	4. "The Strike King"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *this chapter is a week after the last chapter*

  
Keith's eyes had started to burn from staring at his computer screen in the dark. He yawned and checked the time: 7:32. Jesus, it wasn't even that late. _Why did he always have to be so damn tired?_

  
The click of the door unlocking made Keith jump, shaking his whole bed.

  
"Hi Keith," Pidge smiled.

A big guy in a yellow shirt and dark hair followed Pidge inside. He had a sort of sweet disposition that clashed with his burly stature; like a big, cuddly bull in a china shop.

"This is Hunk," Pidge added, gesturing to him. "Hunk, this is Keith."

  
The big guy smiled and waved. "Hey!"

  
"Hi," Keith said.

  
"Sheesh, why is it so dark in here?" Pidge flipped on the lights, making Keith wince.

  
All of a sudden Hunk's face went from friendly to serious, as he looked Keith up and down. "Wait a second. Your pale skin, the dark hair, the brooding eyes. . . you're a vampire, aren't you?"

  
Keith laughed, which he hadn't done in a long time. It felt good. "That would explain a lot, actually."

  
Pidge snickered, then noticed Keith was wearing pajamas. "Wait, have you been in here _all day_?"

  
"No." Keith squirmed a bit in his bed. He wasn't used to being questioned like this. "I, uh, left to get some food."

  
"What do you plan on doing the rest of the night?" Pidge pressed.

  
Keith shrugged, shutting closed his computer and rubbing his eyes. "I dont know. Maybe study more. Watch Doctor Who."

  
"You should go out with us," Hunk pushed, smiling.

  
"Yeah, I'm starting to think you're agorophobic or something," Pidge joked. Keith smirked.

  
There was a knock at the door. Pidge opened it, and Lance stood in the doorway, bouncing on his heels.

" _Are you all ready to get_ \- oh, hey Keith!" Lance's grin went even wider as he stepped inside. Keith waved, suddenly wishing he wasn't in his pajamas.

  
"We were just trying to convince him to go outside for once," Pidge teased, looking at Keith pointedly.

  
"What're you guys doing, anyway?" Keith asked.

  
"Only the best sport in the entire world 'cause you can literally _eat food_ while you play," Hunk said, making a fist and pumping it in the air.

  
"We're going bowling," Pidge said.

  
"Oh. I've never been."

  
" _You've never been bowling_?" Lance was incredulous.

  
"I thought it was a thing that like, really old people did," Keith said, shrugging.

  
Lance put a hand over his heart like he was insulted.  
"That's it. You're coming with us. You need to see the bowling king in action." Lance grinned and put a hand on his hip. Keith noticed Lance was wearing a white tshirt that had been scribbled on with sharpie. He had drawn on a bow tie and the outlines of a suit jacket, and a breast pocket that had "The Strike King" scrawled on it. "And change your clothes, you look like a hermit."

  
There was no use in arguing, so Keith agreed. They all went outside to wait for him.  
Keith changed out of his pajamas and into a pair of black jeans and a red tshirt, and threw on his black Jean jacket.

He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror. _Nothing special_ , he thought. Black, messy hair (A haircut was long overdue). Brown eyes, and not even the  _good_ kind of brown eyes, either-- like the color you'd get if you mixed asphalt with mud. A little scar on his chin from falling out of a tree as a kid-- and one on his cheekbone from a particularly nasty bully. 

He let out the breath he had been holding and slapped his face lightly a few times.The knot in his stomach was forming again. He tried pushing it back down, physically pressing on his stomach with his hands.  _You can do this._

He turned and headed for the door.

_You can do this You can do this You can do this..._

  
\--

  
Lance was good at bowling, but Keith was better.

  
" _What?!_ " Lance shreiked, after yet another perfect strike made by Keith. He shook his head, crossing his arms indignantly. "No way, you lied. This _cannot_ be you're first time playing."

  
"It is."

  
Lance scoffed.

  
"Beginners luck, I guess," Keith shrugged.

Lance narrowed his eyes at Keith. "You're _sure_ you've never played before?"

  
Keith rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I think I would've remembered."

  
"Whats your secret? Have you ever been bitten by a radioactive spider? Do you have a bionic arm?"

  
"Stop interrogating him, Lance," Pidge said nudging him, "It's your turn, anyway."

  
Keith won the first game. Lance won the second, and teased him endlessly, saying he could talk to the guy behind the counter to turn on the kiddie bumpers for Keith. The last one was close, but Lance won again. All Hunk did was eat curly fries.

  
Lance seemed to be on a mission to talk to every person at the bowling alley-- whether it be the shoe guy behind the counter, the waitress, or the elderly couple in the lane next to them. Keith frowned; it looked like Lance couldn't go someplace without oozing charm all over everyone. He was handing out smiles and winks like it didn't even cost him anything.

"Hey, Lance," Keith nudged him with his elbow, joking. "I think there's a baby in the corner you forgot to kiss."

"A baby?!" Lance spun his head around frantically. "Where?"

"No, I was just..."  _Just._ "Nevermind."

Lance set down the pitcher of lemonade he was holding. He was balancing three glasses in his other hand; he let them drop on the table, and they landed without falling over.

"Why do you do that?"

"What?" He poured a glass of lemonade and held it out to Keith. He took it without thinking, took a sip, and then set it down with distaste.

"Go so far out of your way to be nice to people?"

He smiled-- but he was already smiling, so that just meant he smiled more. 

"Do you think I should be more like you?" Lance asked, then looked fondly over at Pidge, who was curled up in a seat, absorbed in their phone. "Or them?"

Keith rolled his his eyes. "There's got to be a happy medium."

"I'm happy," he said, "So this must be it."

Hunk ordered another order of curly fries. Pidge ordered a huge tray of dripping orange nachos. Lance bought four giant dill pickles that were so sour, they made them all cry. Then Keith bought them all ice cream after with the money he had left in his pocket.

  
"I really _am_ The Strike King," Lance said, dramatically clutching his hand to his chest. "Everything I write on my shirt comes true."

  
Keith rolled his eyes, and Lance noticed.

  
"Oh, Keith, don't be jealous," Lance grinned, his voice in mock sympathy, "You still get a medal for participation."

  
"Shut up, " Keith laughed, punching his arm. "I was _this close_ ," Keith pinched his thumb to his index finger, "to beating you, Lance."

  
"We'll see who wins next time, mullet." Lance teased, licking his cone.

  
_Next time_ , Keith thought, and smiled to himself.

  
"Hey Keith ," Pidge piped up, "you should go out to O'Neal's with us tonight."

  
"Yeah," Lance said, putting his arm around Keith playfully, wiggling his eyebrows, "the night is young."

  
"And so am I," Keith said, pushing Lance off. "I can't go to a bar, I'm only twenty."

  
"I'm twenty, and they let me in," Lance shrugged, biting into his waffle cone. "They don't check for ID."

  
"Plus you'll be with us," Hunk said, nodding, "Nobody'll stop you. And they have, like, the _best_ onion rings."

  
Keith almost said yes.  
Instead he shook his head.

When Keith got back up to his room, he changed into sweatpants and his red hoodie.  
He did some reading for class. He took a shower. Then he watched Doctor Who until his eyes were drooping and he knew he would fall asleep as soon as he hit the bed.


	5. "Little Red"

Lance had started coming to their dorm room almost every day. Some days he would go there to study with Pidge, but most days he just came there to talk.  
Today was a study day. Lance had been sprawled out on Pidge's bed for hours as Pidge talked endlessly about the social norms of 18th century London.  
Keith was trying to study for English, but with Pidge's lecturing and Lance's occasional wisecracks, he couldn't focus.  
"Do either of you know where the library is?" Keith asked, standing up from his bed and throwing on his red hoodie.  
"Why are you going to the library so late?" Pidge questioned.  
Pidge was right. The sun was washing the room in a hazy glow; in 30 minutes it would probably be dark.  
"I'm going to study there, and I need a book."  
Lance jumped up from Pidges bed. "Here, I'll walk you."  
" _What_? No, I can walk myself."  
Lance shook his head. He was already putting on his coat.  
"I'm getting _serious_ Little Red Riding Hood vibes from you, like you're gonna get kidnapped or something," Lance grinned, tugging on the sleeve of Keith's red sweatshirt. Keith pulled his arm away. "Plus I'm no good at explaining directions, and if you get lost and die, I'll feel bad."  
Keith rolled his eyes. "Whatever."  
"Coming?" Lance asked, turning to Pidge.  
"Fuck no. It's like antarctica out there."

Pidge was right. Again. It was frigid, and the sun was just about to set. Keith tried to walk as fast as he could, but Lance never broke his leisurely stroll, keeping up perfect pace with Keith. It was probably those mile-long legs.

"You're shivering. Don't you have more than that sweatshirt?"  
Keith glanced at Lance from the corner of his eye; his face looked even tanner in the golden light.  
"No," Keith shrugged.  
"What? That's insane. Why didn't you wear warmer clothes?"  
"I honestly didn't really bring much here in the first place."  
"That's it," he smiled, walking backwards in front of Keith so they were facing eachother, "I'm _totally_ knitting you something."  
Keith couldn't help but laugh. " _You knit_?"  
"Sure. Knitting isn't just for old people, you know. Neither is bowling." He winked, grinning.  
They arrived at the library, a large Greco-Roman style building surrounded by red and orange trees.  
"Okay well, thanks, I guess," Keith said. His breath came out of his mouth in tiny rainclouds, and he could see Lance's breath, too, even though he looked warm.  
"Call me when you're done so I can walk you back."  
_Fuck no_ , Keith thought. He could walk back by himself. And he didn't even have Lance's number--  
"Here's my number." Lance took out a small piece of paper and scrawled on it, then handed it to Keith. Their hands brushed.  
"I can walk by myself, you know," Keith huffed, shoving the peice of paper in his pocket. Lance was already walking away.  
"You have yet to prove that to me, Little Red," Lance said over his shoulder, grinning.

When Keith got out of the library, it was pitch black outside.  
He sighed. He was hoping he would just remember the way back so that he wouldn't have to call Lance, but all of the buildings and trees looked exactly the same at night.  
He dug the peice of paper out of his pocket and punched it in to his phone.  
"Hello?" Pidge answered on the third ring.  
"Pidge? I thought this was Lance's number."  
"It is. He ran out the door as soon as the phone rang. You might as well just wait for him."  
"Oh. Okay."

Keith stood, teeth chattering, under a lamp post so Lance could see him, and after a few minutes, he could make out Lance's figure jogging up to him. Even his jogging looked casual.  
Keith met him halfway, walking forward to him, and they fell into step together.  
"So, what book did you need to find?"  
"Just a dumb romance story I'm reading for English," he shrugged.  
"What's dumb about it?"  
"It was just totally unrealistic," Keith said, crossing his arms to try to preserve heat, "The scene where they met was idiotic. Love at first sight? _Really_ , that trope? _Again_ , for what, the _millionth_ time?"  
"What, you don't believe in love at first sight?" Lance grinned.  
" _No_. . . Do you?"  
"Definitely," He said, grinning and walking backwards, so they were facing eachother.  
"They hardly even knew eachother," Keith continued, even though he could feel himself rambling. "You can't fall in love with someone over just _one conversation_. Especially after meeting them for the very first time. That sort of stuff just doesn't happen in real life."  
"No?" Lance tilted his head.  
"The whole plot is too. . . I dont know, _perfect_ ," Keith shrugged, "Sometimes people just aren't right for eachother. Sometimes people just don't fit." Keith looked at a button on Lance's shirt instead of his eyes.  
"Yeah, but those are, like, Lego people. . . I mean, how could they? They make them in like, a _billion_ different sizes now," Lance said. Keith grinned, and Lance continued, his grin even wider now. "And don't even get me _started_ on duplos, those are huge. But they all get put in a bucket or in a box, and then they end up getting all mixed up--"  
"Lance, shut up." Keith couldn't help but laugh.  
"What? I like the sound of my own voice, and I refuse to apologize for that," he chuckled. "Oh, we're here."  
They walked inside and rode the elevator up in silence. The only sound was the tapping of Lance's foot. It was enough to make that knot grow in his stomach again, and Keith silently cursed, frowning. It had been starting to go away little by little, but now it was back, full throttle.  
When they got inside the room, Lance packed up his books.  
"Bye Pidge, thanks for the help," Lance said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "See ya later, Little Red." Lance winked at Keith and went out the door, which shut behind him.  
Pidge looked up from their computer and at Keith, raising their eyebrows and grinning suspiciously.  
"What?" Keith asked, blushing.  
Pidge just shook their head, turning back to their computer. " _Nothing_. . ."  
Keith just rolled his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A big Thank you to Alana+Bochmann, who recommended that Lance be crafty and knit little things for Keith :)  
> I would love to hear your comments/recommendations below!  
> As always, thanks for reading!


	6. "Another Boy's Coat"

Keith was sitting on his bed studying for his French exam when his phone rang, making him jump. _Who the hell could be calling? No one ever called him._ A familiar voice spoke before he could even say hello.

"Hey Keithy."

". . . _Lance_?"

"Yep. Listen--"

"How did you get my number?" Keith interrupted, frowning.

"You called me. That one night. Remember?"

"Oh, right." Keith rubbed the back of his head and pulled at the ends of his hair anxiously.

"Anyway, I was sort of calling 'cause. . . Well, I've got a sort of a predicament."

"Oh. Um, what's wrong?"

"My car won't start. I think the battery's dead or something, poor baby."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so. . . Would you able to give me a ride home? I'm at work right now."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Keith got up and grabbed his black jeans off the floor and started slipping them on over one leg, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder.

"Cool, thanks Keithy," Lance said.

He hoisted his pants up and buttoned them, frowning. "That's not my name."

"Are you sure?" Keith could sense the grin on Lance's face. "Because I really like Keithy."

Keith rolled his eyes and threw on his black jean jacket. "I've had a lot of time to think about it, I'm sure.”

Keith grabbed his keys from off of his crowded, paper-ridden desk and headed out the door. "I'll be there in 5."

...

Keith spotted Lance standing outside in his black work clothes in front of Starbucks, his hands shoved in his pockets. Keith pulled up next to him, killed the engine, and took off his helmet, shaking out his hair as he did so. Lance blinked, his mouth agape.

"Of course. . ." Lance's voice drifted as he looked at Keith. " _Of course_ you ride a motorcycle." Lance shook his head, eyes still glued to Keith. Lance's face seemed pinker than usual.

"Did you get a sunburn or something? You're face looks really red," Keith asked, squinting at Lance.

"No. I mean, uh, yeah, I got sunburned. Yesterday." Lance shrugged, laughing a little and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His face changed all of a sudden, like something dawned on him. "Wait a second, _that's_ what you're giving me a ride in?"

Keith nodded slowly. "Yeah?"

"No no no," Lance said, shaking his head and putting up his hands, "No way."

"I brought an extra helmet."

"That's not the point," Lance squawked, "That right there is a high-powered death machine on wheels. I'm not getting on _that_." Lance crossed his arms, and so did Keith.

"Lance, I know what I'm doing." Keith said flatly.

"I'm too pretty to die," Lance whined, and Keith looked up at the setting sky in desperation. It would be dark soon.

"Lance, I've been riding since I was sixteen. You'll be okay, I promise."

"Fine," Lance unfolded his arms and pointed a finger at Keith. "But if you do kill me, I will haunt your kitchen cabinets till the day you die.”

Keith smirked and threw him a helmet, and Lance caught it, grinning.

...

They zoomed down the street, wind rippling their clothes and soaring back into the dark, star-dotted sky.

Keith loved having a motorcycle. He loved the adrenaline. Riding was one of the only times he felt truly free. He could go faster than anyone else, he got to pass cars on the freeway, and he never got asked to drive anyone to the airport. Keith made a sharp turn, and he felt Lance's arms tighten around his waist. His breath caught in his throat. Keith couldn't tell which was making his head spin more: the speed they were going or the fact that Lance had his arms around Keith.

" _Keith!_ "

"Yeah?" He yelled over the rush of wind.

"Aren't you going a bit too fast?"

"Nah," Keith yelled, "I've never gotten pulled over before, don't worry."

The next thing Keith heard was the familiar blaring of a police siren.

 _Shit_.

He pulled off on the side of the road. Keith took off his helmet and buried his face in his hands. He could not believe this was happening. The first time he gets a ticket and Lance, _of all people_ , was there to see it?

" _Lance. Not. A. Word_." He said through gritted teeth. There was a pause, and Keith could almost hear the cogs spinning in Lance's head.

". . . Fergulous."

"Lance, I said no words!"

"Oh, I see how it is," he scoffed, "two weeks ago, we're playing scrabble, it's not a word, now suddenly it _is_ a word because it's convenient for you."

" _Would you get over that already_?" Keith said, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Here you go sir," the officer said as he approached them, handing Keith a ticket. "Please slow down, it's a safety hazard," he added, walking back to his car.

Lance saluted rather dramatically. "Thank you, officer."

God, Lance would never let Keith live this one down.

After Lance's laughing fit calmed down they continued, Lance shouting out directions every now and then. _Turn left on main street, right on Maple!_ After 10 minutes, Lance told him to pull over, and they came to a halt near the curb at an old two story Victorian house.

"This is where you live?" Keith asked as he took off his helmet, shaking out his hair.

Lance practically stumbled off the bike and then gave Keith back his helmet, smiling.

"You should come in for a minute. I need to show you something," Lance grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

"What?"

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"You'll like this one."

Keith glared at Lance skeptically.

"Just come on already," Lance said jerking his head upward to the house. Keith sighed and parked his bike, and they made their way up the pavement and the scraggly grass lawn.

As Lance led the way up the drive, Keith couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. Lance had off handedly mentioned before that he lived with a lot of people. That was not good for Keith. The house had two stories but was kind of thin, and was painted bright yellow. There was a single balcony above the door, which looked like it was leading from one of the bedrooms, and a peak where it seemed like an attic might be. Before they walked inside, Lance stopped him in the doorway.

"Wait. Stay there," Lance grinned mischievously, holding up his hands, "Close your eyes."

"Um. . ."

"Just trust me."

"What are you going to do?"

"It's a surprise, duh." Lance rolled his eyes and put a hand on his hip, still grinning.

Keith hesitantly closed his eyes as Lance unlocked the door and stepped inside, and then, a few moments later, Keith heard Lance come back. Now he could only be about a foot apart from Keith.

"Lance?" Keith shifted from foot to foot, nervous. He could hear Lance's breathing.

"Just wait a second," he heard him say, his breath on Keith’s. For a moment Keith thought Lance was going to kiss him.

All of a sudden, Keith felt something soft and warm being draped around his neck. _Not a kiss._

"Okay. . . open."

Keith blinked his eyes open. Around his neck was a grey and red striped scarf. He looked up at Lance, who was grinning wildly, and took the scarf in his hands, his mouth dropping open.

"Oh my god, Lance, this is actually amazing."

Lance dramatically flipped an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder with his hand. "You're too kind."

"No," Keith laughed, " _You're_ too kind. Thank you." He dug his face into the scarf, letting it warm his nose, which was bright red from the cold. It smelled like Lance, like coffee.

"It's nothing," Lance shrugged, smiling.

"Thank you," Keith repeated. He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a gift this amazing, which sounded kind of pathetic, but it was true.

"Okay, well. . . Uh," Keith nodded, shoving his fists in his jacket pockets. _What was he supposed to do now? Lance was just smiling there like a doofus..._ Keith stood there awkwardly for a moment, then turned on his heels.

"Keith?"

He turned around and looked at Lance, who had his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. The light shone out from inside the house, casting a hazy glow over his features. It made him look angelic, almost.  _Almost,_ Keith reminded himself.

"Do you, um. . . Do you wanna hang here for a while? I think we're gonna play cards or something," Lance shrugged, looking at the cracked pavement. Keith almost said no.

Instead he nodded.

The idea of meeting a bunch of new people made the knot in Keith's stomach tighten and contort, pushing against all his insides and making him nauseous, but he stepped towards Lance anyway. _Maybe this would be a good thing_ , Keith thought. _Making friends_.

Lance walked inside, with Keith practically hiding behind him, a few feet back. He gave a reassuring look at Keith before he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the coat rack by the door. Keith kept his jacket on, even though the house was warm inside.

Keith looked around the room. There was a couch (with Pidge laying on it, headphones on. They didn’t say anything at their entry, just nodded at them and went back to their computer) facing the tv on the the far left wall of the room with several smaller chairs surrounding it. Hunk was in the kitchen hovering over a mixing bowl, whistling a tune Keith didn't recognize. He immediately brightened once they entered.

“Hey!” he cried out, his voice deep and cheery all at once. He walked out from behind the island (which was covered in various curious vegetables and fruits, and some strange-looking baked goods), revealing his “kiss the cook” apron, which looked like it was handmade.

“Howdy!” Lance said while clapping his hands together. “What’s cooking good-looking?” He strode over to the island and gestured at the various fruits and vegetables. Hunk chuckled a bit before walking over.

Keith froze in his spot and remained by the door and coat rack, their voices fading a bit as Keith took in his surroundings. On either side of the TV were _Star Wars_ posters, and between the couch (which was a bright orange, still occupied by a distracted Pidge) and the tv was a strange glass coffee table with sharp metal legs. On the table was a laptop, as well as several (mainly fashion) magazines and college textbooks (all seemingly having to do with math or science). There was a staircase aligned with the far right wall of the room leading up to a balcony with three doors, all side by side but around six feet apart.

Keith's eyes zeroed back in on the kitchen where Hunk and Lance still stood. Hunk was just handing Lance a weird looking food item (A strange twisted fruit of some sort that was a green-yellow color), and Lance took it and bit into it, showing no signs of hesitancy. His face lit up comically as he chewed, and he slapped Hunk’s arm excitedly. He took another bite and moaned loudly, and Keith felt all of the heat and blood in his body go to his face in a bright red blush. Hunk just laughed and punched Lance in the arm, causing him to stumble back and pout a little, before gesticulating wildly at the food and Hunk. His observing was interrupted by a loud voice:

“Who’s that?”

Keith neck practically snapped at how quickly he looked up at the balcony. Two people stood up there, a young man and woman. It was the girl who had spoken, her loud yet elegant voice ringing out through the house. She held an air of self assuredness and authority that caused her to gain Keith’s instant respect. Her hair was large and billowing, going all the way down to her mid thigh, a cool silver color, and there were strange, yet beautiful, swirling birthmarks tattooing her tan skin. She was wearing a flowing blue high waisted skirt that went down to her ankles, just above her bare feet. She had a sleeveless pink blouse on, tucked into her skirt, and had several bangles decorating her wrists.

Next to her was a man with short hair, buzzed on both sides, and (even though he looked only about 25) a white strip of hair that flopped down only his forehead. His face was objectively gorgeous, with dark eyes and what seemed like impeccable eyeliner. The only thing that marred the beauty was a jagged, pink scar stretching across the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks. He was wearing a tight muscle shirt, revealing a complex prosthetic on his left arm (his other hand tapped a steady rhythm on the balcony railing), and joggers, along with almost comically bright purple running shoes. They entwined their fingers as they walked down the stairs.

Lance --already finished with his snack-- booked it from the kitchen back to where Keith was standing, almost tripping along the way. He lazily tossed an arm around Keith's shoulder and leaned against him, causing Keith to stiffen and blush (again).

“This is Keith,” he said, looking over at Keith and smiling sweetly. “Once you get over the hair, he's actually a pretty cool guy.”

Keith just rolled his eyes, which was returned with a giggle from Lance.

Once the two reached Keith and Lance, their hands broke apart and Lance finally got off of Keith, which should've been a relief, but, if he was being honest with himself, really wasn’t.

“This is Shiro,” Lance grinned, obviously proud. “He's basically the super hot dad of the group.”

Shiro rolled his eyes at Lance then stuck out his non-prosthetic hand to Keith, smiling warmly.

“Hi,” Shiro said, and Keith took his hand hesitantly and shook it.

“Hello,” Keith said, trying to look more pleasant and less like he was on the brink of self-combusting.

"Oh, and this is the lovely Allura," Lance said, gesturing to the woman, who was smiling sweetly. “They're hopelessly in love," Lance whispered to Keith behind his hand as he jabbed his thumb at them, which was returned with a punch in the arm from Allura.

Lance grasped dramatically at his arm, gasping. "Sheesh, you're strong for a princess."

Allura tore her icy, yet playful, glare away from Lance and turned to smile at Keith warmly.

"Very nice to finally meet you, Keith." She had an accent. British, maybe? "I've heard so much about you. Lance said--"

Lance cleared his throat loudly, making Keith and Allura jump, and Shiro chuckle. "Well, enough talk," Lance said a little too loudly, his voice cracking, "let's play some cards."

...

"I will crush you, Keith Kogane."

They were all sitting in a big circle on the living room floor, completely enthralled in a game of Poker, in which they were betting Oreos instead of poker chips. Keith had never played it before, but after a few hours, he was basically a pro.

"Not before I completely _annihilate_ you, Lance McClain."

"Oh, using big words to confuse your opponent? Cheap move, Kogane."

"I really hope you're not talking about the word that I think you're talking about."

"What, you think you're smarter than me?"

"Infinitely," Keith smirked, moving his ace of spades further down in his hand. He was so gonna beat Lance's sorry ass.

" _Please_ ," Lance said, "my brain's the size of Texas."

"I think you're getting your brain confused with your ego," Keith teased. "The amount of information in your brain could be stored in a paper airplane."

"Well, the amount in your brain is, uh, less than what I have!" Lance stuttered. Hunk high-fived him without even looking up from his cards, and Lance grinned.

"Oh yeah? Well I--"

Pidge groaned loudly from across the room, interrupting Keith. "Sheesh, you two bicker like an old married couple."

" _Pidge_!" Lance shrieked, his cheeks turning red.

"Just sayin," they said, shrugging their shoulders.

"Pidge _has_ got a point," Shiro nodded, a grin on his face as he looked up from his cards.

"Whatever," Lance said, grinning at Keith over the pile of Oreos in the center if the circle. "Doesn't matter. . . Because _I win_."

He slapped down his cards and hollered, and everyone threw down their cards in rage.

" _What?!_ " Keith said, shaking his head. "No fucking way."

"You heard me loud and clear, pretty boy. I win." Lance stuck his tongue out, and Hunk looked over at his cards, probably to make sure he didn't cheat.

"He's right," Hunk said, "Royal flush." Allura pointed a finger at Lance, narrowing her eyes.

“I don't know _how_ , but you're definitely cheating.”

“ _Or_ breaking the rules,” Pidge piped up.

“Nope. All talent,” he grinned. “Unless you count being incredibly good looking as a criminal offence.”

A unanimous groan echoed throughout the living room, but Lance just giggled maniacally as he scooped the pile of Oreos into his arms.

Keith took his phone out of his pocket, checking the time; 12:37. Jeez, he hadn't realized how late it had gotten.

“I should probably head back to the dorm,” he yawned.

“Me too,” Pidge sighed.

The room exploded into a chorus of cheerful goodbyes as they stood and headed towards to door. Lance scrambled up, practically tripping. (Again).

They approached the door, and Pidge shrugged their coat, which was green with yellow buttons, on over their small frame. They raised their hand in a final goodbye to the group before they threw open the door and stepped out on the stair.

“Jeez, it's really cold out there,” Lance shivered as he stood in the doorway. “Here,” he said, taking his black coat off of the coat hanger and handing it to Keith, “take my coat.”

“What? _No_ ,” Keith said, shaking his head and pushing the coat back at Lance.

“Take it.” _Push_.

“ _No._ ” _Push_.

“Let me be nice,” Lance said, pushing the coat back at Keith.

“I don't need your coat, Lance,” Keith pushed the coat back again, rolling his eyes.

“For the love of all things good and holy,” he muttered, draping the coat over Keith's shoulders. “I will _not_ have you catching a cold. Not on my watch.” he said, crossing his arms.

“Lance, I don't need--”

“Oh for _fucks sake_ ,” Pidge groaned, "I'm slowly turning into a Pidge-sicle out here. Come _on._ ”

And then Lance was shoving Keith out the door before he could protest again, and Keith was stepping out into the cool September air, with a new scarf that was all his and another boy’s coat around his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my sister Ali (@nusila on tumblr, she posts really nice art) for helping write this chapter! <3


	7. "Real Life, Human, Non-Fictional Friends"

Keith was sitting at his desk, legs crisscrossed, writing up his English essay, which was due this friday. He still had two more days, but he wanted to finish it, get it out of the way. He didn't need the stress of doing it all the night before.

Keith heard the door creak open and jumped, turning around in his chair. Lance popped his head through the crack of the door.

"Hey, do you know where Pidge is?"

"Dining hall, I think."

"Okay."

Keith expected Lance to leave after that, but he lingered, swinging open the door. He was wearing a big blue coat and a blue and green striped scarf, which Keith guessed he had made himself. It must have been really cold out.

He stood there in the doorway for a moment, his eyes flitting around the room before landing on Keith.

"We're friends, right?" Lance asked, shyly looking down at where he was sitting in his chair.

Keith blinked, surprised, and suddenly nervous. "Is that a trick question?" Keith asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Just answer," Lance said as he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. Why?"

"You'd tell me if something was going on? You'd be honest?"

"Yeah, sure, Lance," he shrugged, his eyebrows knitting together. "What is this about?"

"You promise you'll be honest?"

Keith nodded, still confused. Lance took a big breath and stepped closer to Keith, looking serious.

"Do you. . ." He trailed off as he kicked the wood floor with his foot, refusing to meet eyes with him.

"Lance, just get on with it."

" _Jesus_ , okay," he sighed, rolling his eyes and looking Keith in the eye, "Do you have an eating disorder?"

Keith nearly choked on his spit. "Lance, what the hell?"

Lance just crossed his arms stubbornly. "You promised you'd be honest."

"No, Jesus christ."

"You dont?"

" _No,_ " Keith said, throwing up his hands in the air.

"Then why don't I ever see you in the cafeteria?"

Keith blinked, surprised, then couldn't help but laugh a little at Lance. "You-- you _actually_ thought I have an eating disorder based on the fact that I don't go to the cafeteria?"

"You're avoiding the question" -he raised his eyebrows- " _again_."

Keith shrugged. "I just- I just don't eat there."

"Are you one of those picky eaters?"

"No, I just. . . " Keith searched for a fib, but found nothing. The eating disorder bit was starting to look really good right about now.

"What?" Lance crossed his arms, eyebrows raised even higher.

Keith looked up to the ceiling. He couldn't believe he was really about to admit this. To Lance, no less.

"I don't. . ." He sighed. "I don't know where the dining hall is."

Lance let out a stifled laugh. "Keith, you've been living here for over a month."

Keith rolled his eyes. "I'm aware."

"And you haven't found the dining hall?"

"I haven't really looked."

Lance laughed again, a hand on his hip. "Get your ID card. Put on your shoes and your scarf-- oh, and do you still have my coat?" Keith nodded. "Put it on. We're going."

"What? No."

"Why not?"

Keith's hands formed into fists on his legs.

"It's not just that I don't know where it is, it's just. . . New situations, new people, that sort of stuff freaks me out. I won't know where the line is, or where to sit, and--"

" _Please_ ," Lance smiled, holding up his hand, "you'll sit with us."

 

Lance talked nonstop the entire walk to the dining hall.

In a way, Keith was thankful; hearing Lance ramble on about whatever the hell was on his mind tended to calm his nerves a bit. Plus, when Lance wasn't making a complete ass of himself, he could actually be kind of funny. (But Keith would never admit that.)

This time he was babbling on and on about a certain pair of mittens he was knitting. "They're made out of alpaca wool. Have you ever actually seen an alpaca, Keith? They're like an even cuter version of a llama. Like, imagine the cutest Llama you can, and then just keep going. And their wool. . . well, I guess it's not really wool, it's fiber, and it's hypoallergenic. Anyway, it's insanely soft. Like, kiss-it, bathe-in-it, make-love-to-it soft..."

Keith dug his face into his scarf, breathing it in. It still smelled like Lance. Like coffee beans and pick-up lines and smiles and Old Spice body spray.

They arrived at what Keith presumed was the dining hall, a large beige building. Jesus, why was everything in college beige? It was like they wanted their students to die of boredom.

They stepped inside, Lance grinning and Keith anxious as hell.

The Dining Hall wasn't as bad as he imagined it to be, especially with Lance at his side. There was no awkward moment in the cafeteria, no standing around aimlessly, trying decide the most anodyne place to sit. 

Plus, the Dining hall had everything from pizza to stir-fry, and Keith was absolutely ravenous.

"Keith!" Everyone yelled as Lance and Keith approached the table, food trays in hand.

Keith waved. "Hi."

Everybody was smiling... because he was there. _What_?

Keith looked at Lance, and Lance just grinned back.

"Nice of you to join us," Shiro said earnestly, patting Keiths back heartily as he sat down.

Lance plopped down next to Keith, his thigh pressing up against his. The small contact was enough to make him feel close to fainting. Keith shoved a way-too-big bite of macaroni in his mouth, attempting to stay conscious.

"So what were _you two_ doing together?" Pidge asked, an evil smile on their face.

Keith blushed, but Lance just shot Pidge a snarky smile. "I recruited Keith when I was looking for you, you little turd."

Pidge shrugged, defeated but still smiling, and then shot Keith a wink that he decided to ignore.

After that day, Keith started sitting with them everyday. It was, well, _different_. Nice. Keith had never really had friends before (which sounded kind of sad, but whatever, it was true.) For the first time, he didn't just have books to keep him company, he had friends. Real life, human, non-fictional friends. He just hoped he wouldn't manage to mess it all up.


	8. "The Perfect Match"

 

“Die, undead scum," Keith muttered to his phone as he shot another zombie in the brains. A comical burst of blood shot at him from the screen of his phone, and he grinned in satisfaction.  
He had been talking to his professor after class about an essay he had forgotten to turn in, so everyone else in his class had avoided the rain except him. And because he didn't own an umbrella, he was now forced to sit inside on the floor of the hallway and wait it out.  
"Little Red!"  
Keith jumped and turned his head, only to see Lance sauntering down the empty hallway towards him.  
Keith waved.  
"Hey! You're wearing your scarf! It looks, dare I say, fabulous on you." Lance bowed extravagantly. Keith looked down, tugging self consciously at his scarf.  
"What are you doing here?" Keith asked.  
"I help my teacher clean the classroom sometimes," he shrugged. "What about you?" Lance leaned over to peer at Keith's phone. "Playing video games?"  
"Mm-hmm," Keith hummed, "I'm just waiting out the rain."  
"Oh yeah," Lance breathed, looking out the window, "it's really coming down out there."  
Keith nodded.  
"Did you forget your umbrella?" Lance asked.  
"I don't have one."  
"You don't have one?"  
Keith shrugged. "No."  
"You do realize you live in one the wettest places in the nation, right?"  
Keith scowled. "I'm aware."  
Lance chuckled to himself.  
"First, you don't have warm clothes, now you don't have an umbrella?" Lance raised an eyebrow teasingly. "I'm starting to suspect you used to be homeless."  
Keith laughed. "I'm pretty sure that's what half the students here think."  
Lance tapped his umbrella on his foot and bit his lip with his teeth.  
"So, you're just gonna, uh, sit here?"  
Keith stared out the window at the gloomy sky and falling rain. It didn't seem to be lightening up a bit; in fact, it seemed only to be getting worse with each passing minute.  
"That's the plan," he muttered.  
"Seems like a pretty donk plan," Lance scoffed.  
"I don't have anything better to do," Keith huffed, putting his chin in his hand.  
"That's the spirit!" Lance said happily, his grin dripping with sarcasm.  
Keith just frowned up at him.  
"Well, fear not, my damsel in distress!" Lance said, dramatically brandishing his umbrella, "Sir Lancelot is here!"  
  
They stepped out in the rain together, Lance's shoulder pushed up against Keith's under the small rainbow-patterned umbrella. Rain still soaked his pants as they walked, but at least his top half was dry under the flamboyant umbrella.  
"Hey, we should do something tomorrow. We could get a drink, or go to Pete's. Have I told you about Pete's yet? The best pizza in the entire county," Lance bubbled, gesticulating wildly with his free hand as they walked. His voice was so happy, so youthful, it made Keith kind of sad.  
"I can't tomorrow," Keith said, looking down at his rain-soaked converse, "I need to get my bike to the auto shop."  
"Oh," Lance said, his face falling. "What's wrong with it?"  
"There's something weird with the engine."  
"I could help," Lance grinned, looking over at Keith.  
"How?" Keith frowned.  
"I've got a truck. It's a flatbed, and it can pretty much hold anything. I could drive it there."  
"That's okay, you don't have to."  
"Dude, really, it's nothing. Tomorrow?"  
"Um, okay," Keith shrugged, "If you insist."  
He smiled goofily and waggled his eyebrows. "I do."  
They were finally at his dorm, and they walked up to the big glass doors.  
"You have my number, right?" Keith said, a hand on the door, "You can text me the time."  
"Yeah, sure, text, cool," Lance nodded.  
"Okay, well see ya tomorrow?"  
Lance smiled the smile Keith had really started to look forward to everyday.  
"See ya tomorrow, Little red."  
  
The next day was clear and sunny; so hot that they were both sweating by the time they were done loading the bike in the back of Lance's truck. After shutting the flatbed door, Lance took off his flannel to reveal a white tank-top; it showed a buff, bare-armed Abraham Lincoln with the words "Abolish Sleevery."  
Keith snorted. "Nice shirt."  
Lance looked down at his shirt before smiling proudly at Keith. "What can I say? I'm a man of many puns."  
They both laughed at that, then hopped into Lance's truck (which was an old, bright blue Toyota. Lance had about a billion different pet names for it, his favorites among them being "good ol' blue", "baby", and "Queen B.")  
"So, are you the guy everyone calls when they need help?" Keith asked, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt.  
Lance narrowed his eyes at Keith, smiling, before he started the engine and made his way down the road. "Are you asking me if I'm a member of the ghostbusters?"  
Keith rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. "You know what I mean."  
"I help people move sometimes," he shrugged, "I think it's the car."  
"It's nice," Keith nodded. "The car, I mean."  
"Thanks," Lance looked over to smile at Keith.  
"Keep your eyes on the road," Keith smirked, and Lance blushed, turning his head.  
Keith cleared his throat and folded his arms.  
"So, where is this auto shop?"  
"Oh-ho-ho," Lance grinned maniacally, shaking his head. "I couldn't take your death-machine-on-wheels to just any ordinary auto shop."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I'm taking you somewhere special," Lance nodded giddily, "The best auto shop in town."  
"Where?"  
"It's a surprise."  
"What's with you and surprises?"  
Lance rolled his eyes, laughing. "Just trust me."  
"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you."  
"I'm not very heavy," Lance grinned.  
Keith rolled his eyes, smiling. "Whatever. Just as long as it gets fixed."  
Lance pulled into a familiar street.  
"Wait a second," Keith frowned, "why are we at your house?"  
"This is it!" Lance beamed as the rusty truck came to a stop with a lurch in front of the familiar yellow house.  
" _This_ is the best auto shop in town?" Keith deadpanned.  
"Let's just say. . . " he took the keys out of the ignition and smiled at Keith. "Hunk is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades."  
  
Lance was right. Within less than 30 minutes Hunk had identified the problem right and confirmed he could fix it, right there in the driveway.  
"Thanks Hunk!" Lance bubbled, tackling him with a hug.  
Hunk giggled, wrapping him in an arm crushing embrace and picking him up off the ground.  
"Ah, buddy, you're crushing my spine," Lance wheezed.  
"Whoops! Sorry, dude," Hunk said, setting him down. Lance just laughed, throwing an arm around him.  
"Thank you so much," Keith piped up. "I owe you one."  
He held up his hand, smiling.  
"Food is the only payment I accept."  
"Deal," Keith smiled.  
"Hey, we could go out for milkshakes after it's all fixed up," Lance suggested, shrugging.  
"Sure," Keith grinned, "I'm buying."  
"Ugh, that is my favorite sentence in the world," Hunk said, practically drooling.

Lance and Keith walked up the porch and stepped inside. Keith was grinning; he was getting his motorcycle fixed, and he was only paying in fucking _milkshakes._

“Oh!” Lance beamed, turning to Keith as he shut the door behind them. “I have someone for you to meet.”

Keith raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Just how many roommates do you have?”

“This one is different.” He turned around, disappeared from view in the kitchen, and came back with a-- _a cat_. Not just a cat, an adorable, fluffy _kitten._

Keith practically melted. “Oh, my god.”

“She’s adorable, right?”

“She’s yours?”

“Yep. Got her at the shelter a week ago. _And she is just the sweetest little kitty..._ ” he nuzzled his nose into her fur, baby-voiced.

Keith nodded, scratching the top of its brown-and-white spotted head. “What’s her name?”

Lance looked at Keith, grinning and raising his thin, arched eyebrows.

Keith frowned. “Oh no, I _know_ that look.”

Lance’s grin stretched even wider. Keith pointed a finger at Lance. “You’re about to make a _pun-_ ”

Lance nodded, giggling. “This lovely lady is named Fleayoncé.”

Keith face-palmed. “I can’t believe you right now.”

Lance cackled. “Come on, it’s a good name. I named her after the person I love most in the world.”

Keith scoffed, laughing. “Have you ever even _met_ Beyoncé?”

“I don’t have to,” he said, then clutched Fleayoncé to his chest, “I know her spiritually.”

Keith tried to suppress his smile. "I would punch you if you weren’t holding a kitten.”

 

The next 30 minutes they played with Fleayoncé in the living room, arguing about who she liked the best and Lance making the most ridiculous cat puns.

They played scrabble. Keith won every time. "That's what happens when you read," Keith said.  
Lance tucked his chin into his neck indignantly. “Pfft. I read.”  
“Yeah,” Keith scoffed. “Menus.”  
Lance frowned. "Hey, I-" Hunk walked in, a strip of grease on his cheek and on his arm, wiping his hands with a semi-dirty towel. "All fixed!" he beamed.  
"Really?" Keith stood up. "That was fast."

“What did I say?” Lance grinned, shooting his eyebrows up at Keith. “Jack of all trades.”

 

They stepped into a 50s style diner, Lance’s arm around Hunk. For a moment Keith wondered if they had dated before, or if they had a sort of “thing.” Lance was always touching him, it seemed; he was always hugging him or had his arm around him.

They slid into a booth; Lance next to Keith (his leg pressed up against his own) and Hunk in the seat across from them, pretty much taking up the entirety of the booth.

The waitress came by and Lance lit up. Naturally.

“Shay!” he exclaimed. She was broad shouldered, tall, and tan with large brown eyes and a blue and white striped apron. “Looking beautiful, as always,” Lance grinned.

Keith tried not to frown or roll his eyes.

She tucked a strand of curly dark hair behind her ear. “Hey Lance!” She turned to Hunk, visibly blushing. “Hi Hunk.”

“H-hey, Shay.” Hunk blushed, moving his hands from his lap to the table and back to his lap again like he didn't know what to do with himself. _Wait a second..._

Her eyes flitted from Keith to Lance, a shy smile on her lips.

“Oh! This is Keith, my uh, my friend.” Lance grinned from Keith to Shay.

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” she smiled. “Can I get you guys something?”

Lance slammed a fist on the table dramatically. “Three milkshakes, please.”

Keith cleared his throat. “Two milkshakes.”

Lance turned to Keith. “What?”

“I'm, uh, lactose intolerant.”

“That's,” Lance stifled a laugh, “That's kinda adorable.”

Keith squinted at him.

 

 

Keith opted for a coffee instead, and Lance ordered corn beef hash.

Their milkshakes and coffee arrived, along with Lance’s corn beef hash-- a whole mess of it. Lance wiggled his eyebrows at Hunk after Shay left.

Hunk pointed a finger at Lance. “Stop that. You and your eyebrows, stop that.”

Keith took the cherry from the top of Lance’s shake and popped it in his mouth. “So, you like her?”

Hunk nodded.

Lance took a loud sip of his strawberry milkshake. “C'mon Hunk, you've liked her since sophomore year of high school. You should just ask her out.” Lance put his elbows on the table. “You just need to go for it.”

“You're one to talk,” Hunk said, looking at Lance pointedly and taking a sip of his chocolate shake.

Keith looked at Hunk, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Keith asked.

“Nothing. He means nothing. Anyway,” Lance continued, shooting daggers at Hunk, “we’re talking about you, not me.”

Lance picked up Keith's coffee cup, set it aside, and scooped a heaping spoon of corn beef hash on his saucer.

“Why don't you ask her out?” Keith asked, shoving a bite in his mouth.

“What if she rejects me?”

Lance sighed. “Dude, she won't. She's crazy about you, I can tell.”

“No offense, but I don't really trust your relationship advice.”

“Actually, I agree with Lance on this one,” Keith interjected.

“You do?” Lance looked at him incredulously.

“I know.” Keith rolled his eyes. “I'm surprised too.”

Lance held up a hand for a high five. Keith shook his head and he lowered it, frowning.

Keith turned to Hunk. “If you like her, you should ask her.”

“I don't know,” Hunk said.

“Bro,” Lance said.

“Bro,” Hunk said.

“ _Bro_.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, Lance,” Hunk said, crossing his arms. “And your eyebrows will not convince me otherwise.”  

“C'mon, Hunk. You're adorable, she's adorable. It's a perfect match," Lance said.

"Look, buddy, that's sweet and all but I don't think I'm ready," Hunk said, squirming in his seat.

"You've been playing the same game since high school. Take a chance.”

Hunk lowered his brows into a glare. “I will if you will.”

After that, Lance shut up and they left, Hunk blushing and waving at Shay on the way out.

  
  



	9. "No Medicine in the World Can Do Thee Good..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the angst you've all been waiting for...

When Keith saw Lance standing outside his door, he was so happy to see his always-friendly face, Keith just let him in. He didn't even bother telling him that Pidge wasn't there.

"Is Pidge here?" Lance asked, as soon as Keith put the key in the lock.

Keith swung it open, shaking his head, and they stepped inside, the door shutting behind them. "No, Pidge left a few hours ago."

"Shit," he said a little too loudly, leaning against the wall. Keiths eyes widened; he didn't think he'd heard Lance ever cuss before. He looked uncharacteristically annoyed, maybe even angry.

"Whats wrong?"

"Pidge was supposed to study with me."

"Oh," Keith said, not understanding. "Well, if you want, you can still study here."

"No." Angry. "That's not the point. We were going to meet up yesterday but they had to work, and we were supposed to meet up today but they're not even here. The English test is tomorrow and--" He sighed, exasperated, "I need Pidge."

He flung a book on Pidge's bed and flopped down on the soft mattress. Keith walked over and picked up the book. " _Hamlet_?"

"Yeah."

"Is it good?"

"I wouldn't know."

"I thought you said the test was tomorrow."

"It is."

" _What_? You haven't read it yet?"

"No."

"Okay, so read it," Keith shrugged, annoyed now, "You still have time. It doesn't look very long."

Lance shook his head and looked at the floor. "You don't understand. I have to pass this test."

"So read the book. Were you just gonna let Pidge read it for you?"

He shook his head again-- not in an answer, more like he was shaking his head at the very idea of reading a book. "I'm not much of a book person," Lance said.

Keith rolled his eyes at the way he said that. _I'm not a book person_. Like books were rich desserts or scary movies.

"Yeah, but this is school," Keith said, setting the book down on the bed next to Lance and sitting in his desk chair. "Would you let Pidge take the test for you?"

"Maybe," he huffed. "If that was an option."

Keith made a noise like _hunh_ in his throat.

"You don't understand," Lance said, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hands. "If I don't get a C in this class, I get kicked out of the program."

"So read the book."

"It's not that simple, Keith."

"Yes, it's exactly that simple. Just read the damn book. Or play, whatever it is. Pidge isn't here to do your work for you. Its not rocket science, Lance-- just read the book."

"You don't understand... anything." Lance stood and walked to the door, but Keith didn't turn to face him. He was tired of fighting. This fight wasn't even his.

"Okay," Keith said, "You're right. I _don't_ understand. Whatever. Pidge isn't here, and I have a ton of reading to do-- and nobody to do it for me-- so..."

Keith heard Lance jerk open the door.

"I tried to read it," he said roughly. "I just, I'm not a reader. I've... I've never finished a book."

Keith turned to look at him.

"You don't get it," Lance said. "I _can't_."

"You mean you won't." Keith could feel himself being a mean, but Lance was being ridiculous.

"No. I _can't_ , Keith."

Keith felt a sudden grab of guilt in his chest. "Are you trying to tell me that you can't read?"

Lance pushed his hair back violently, making it stick up in places. It would have been funny if he didn't look so pissed. "Of course I can read," he said, "Jesus christ, Keith."

"Well, then, what _are_  you trying to tell me? That you just don't want to?"

"No, I--" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't know why I'm trying to tell you anything. I can read. I just can't read _books_."

"So pretend it's a really long street sign and muddle through it."

"Jesus," he said, surprised. Hurt. "What have I ever done to make you be this mean to me?"

"I'm not being mean," Keith said, even though he knew he was. Maybe _that's_ why he didn't have any friends. "I just-- I don't know what you want me to say. That I'm sorry? That I'll do your work for you?"

"I'm not asking you anything, I just-- I don't know, " he said. "It's like, I read a paragraph over and over and over, and I still don't know what it says. Like the words just pass through me. I just can't focus." He looked down at his feet, then at Keith, searching.

Keith still didn't get what Lance meant. He had always been a vivacious reader, ever since he was little. As a kid, his books were his friends, his lifeline, his stability. Reading was his escape from reality when living as a foster kid got too tough, as pathetic as that sounded.

"You think I'm lazy." His eyes were on the ground. "And I'm not."

Keith couldn't find anything to say, so he didn't.

"Whatever," Lance said, turning his face away.. "You don't get it. Just... just forget about it."

He grabbed the door handle and paused in the doorway, looking back for a second. Keith realized then just how much he hated seeing Lance without a smile on his face, without that familiar crinkle around his eyes.

"I'm not stupid," Lance said.

Then he left, letting the door close behind him.

Keith exhaled. Then inhaled. His chest was so tight, it hurt both ways. His chest was burning, actually-- like a whole swarm of wasps decided to sting his heart all at the same time. He clenched his fists. Lance shouldnt be able to make him feel this way. Lance was just some boy he met, he shouldn't have this much power over him. Lance wasn't his boyfriend. Keith was just stuck with him because he got stuck with a roommate in his first year of college. He was a roommate in-law, or something. He sighed and looked over at where Lance had been sitting only moments before.

 _Hamlet_ was still sitting on his bed.

"Shit..." Keith grabbed the book and practically flew out the door. " _Lance_!" He ran down the hall. " _Lance_!"

Lance was waiting at the elevator, hands shoved in his pockets. He looked up at the sound of his name. He didn't look so angry anymore, just sad.

The wasps were swarming again. He stopped, a foot between them. "Your book..." Keith said.

"Thanks." Lance held out his hand for it, but Keith kept it clutched to his chest.

"Look... why don't you come back? Pidge is probably on their way." Keith searched Lance's eyes, although he wasn't sure for what exactly.

"Are you sure?"

Keith nodded. "I'm sorry, I-- yeah," Keith stuttered, "I just, I didn't really realize it was a serious conversation until it was, ya know?"

Lance nodded, although Keith guessed he didn't understand.

"I'm sorry for yelling," Lance said, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"You didn't yell at me."

"I raised my voice."

Keith rolled his eyes and took a step backwards toward his room. "Come on," he said.

He started down the hallway, and Lance quickly fell into step next to him.

"I'm sorry," Keith said again.

"Its fine," he said. "I'm just really stressed out about the test."

They stopped at the door, and Keith face-palmed in realization. "Crap," he said. "Crap fuck shit."

"Eloquent," Lance smirked.

"No, you don't get it," Keith said, grabbing at the hair at the top of his own head, "I left my keys in the room. We're locked out."

"I got ya." Lance grinned and pulled out his key ring.

Keith's jaw dropped. "You have a key to our room?"

"Pidge gave me a spare, for emergencies."

"Then why are you always waiting in the hall for Pidge or me to let you in?"

Lance shrugged. "That's never an emergency."

They walked in and Lance flopped down on Keith's bed, propping his foot up on Keith's chair. Lance was smiling again, but Keith could tell he was operating at about thirty degrees below the regular Lance. They weren't fighting anymore, but Lance was still gonna fail his test.

"So, what? Was Pidge going to read it to you?" Keith asked. He knocked Lance's foot off the chair pointedly, which made Lance grin, before sitting down at his desk.

"Usually, we just go over the main plot points, like the major stuff," Lance said, kicking the leg of his chair playfully, then resting it on the rail. "Pidge usually rereads books, like, three times at least, so they have basically everything memorized."

Keith nodded, scratching at the base of his neck. "Well, I don't know if I'll be much help," Keith frowned, "the only thing I know about Hamlet is that there's a lot of dying."

Lance groaned, resting his head against the wall. Keith looked at the book in his hands and let his fingers flip through the pages; It really wasn't that long.

He flipped to the first page.

"Claudius, king of Denmark. Hamlet, son to the late-"

"Keith," Lance whispered, but Keith didnt look up. He felt his chair wobble and knew Lance was kicking it. "You don't have to do that."

"I know," Keith said. He set the book on his lap and tied his hair back into a small ponytail, though strands still fell into his eyes. "Claudius, king of Denmark. Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew--"

" _Keith_." Lance tapped his chair again.

"Shut up. It's rude to interrupt people," Keith smirked. When he looked up, Lance was grinning. Keith's eyes fell on the book again. "Claudius, king of Denmark. Hamlet, son to the late, and nephew to the present king..."

Lance laid his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

 

An hour or so passed, maybe two, before Keith set down the book. His voice was starting to get raspy, and the foot he had tucked under him had fallen asleep.

Lance blinked his eyes open. "We can stop," Lance said, cracking his back. "I bet you're thirsty. I'll get us some drinks."

Keith paused. He was about to refuse until realized just how dry his throat was. "Really?"

"Yeah, sure," Lance smiled, standing up and heading for the door, "Soymilk latte, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Keith said, a bit flabbergasted that Lance remembered his order.

"Cool. See ya in a bit." He winked before disappearing out the door. Keith blushed for what felt like the millionth time since he met Lance.

When he was gone, Keith got up and stretched. He kicked his desk to get rid of the pins and needles in his leg. He went to the bathroom. Got a protein bar from the vending machine. Ate it on the walk back. Checked his phone. Then lay down on his bed.

It smelled like Lance. Like coffee grounds. And something warm and spicy-- maybe his cologne. Or deodorant. Or soap. _Was Lance really on his bed that often?_

When Lance knocked, Keith jumped up and let him in. Lance stepped in, face still red and flushed from the cold.

"Thanks, I'll pay you back," Keith said as he took his cup, which was warm in his cold hands.

"No need," Lance said, taking off his coat and scarf and setting it on Keith's desk.

"Seriously, Lance, I--" Keith started, but Lance put a hand up in protest.

"I don't think so. You're the one doing me a huge favor, here. Don't you dare try to out-nice me, Keith."

Keith shrugged and took a sip of his latte, which was just as good as the last time Lance had made him coffee.

"The Lance Flair?" Keith asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Lance grinned and raised his own cup in the air. "Is there any other way?"

"Apparently not," Keith said flatly, and Lance laughed.

Keith flopped back onto his bed (his butt was really starting to hurt from the hardness of his desk chair) and Lance sat next to him. Keith placed his coffee between his thighs and rubbed his eyes.

Lance's face grew serious. "You're tired," he said, "let's stop."

"What?! No way, we're almost there."

"No, we should stop. I feel bad."

"It's fine, Lance, really. We're almost done." Keith took a big sip of his coffee.

"Keith?"

"Mmm?" he hummed, swallowing.

"Thanks a lot for this..." he said earnestly, locking eyes with Keith, "for everything."

"It's no big deal," Keith said, looking down at his coffee cup and suddenly thanking God Lance hadn't sat any closer to him-- He probably would've had a heart attack.

"It _is_ a big deal." Lance wouldn't look away from him.

Keith ignored him, taking another sip of his latte and continuing where they had left off: "I know love is begun by time; and that I see, in passages of proof, time qualifies the spark and fire of it..."

 

It was really late. The only thing that allowed Keith to keep reading was the dim lamp on his desk that barely illuminated the room. Keith's voice had gotten groggy and even more raspy, but he didn't have to read as loud now that they were closer. His eyelids grew heavier with every line, and Keith blinked his eyes to stay awake.

"In youth, when I did love, Methought it was very sweet. To contract, O, the time, for, ah, my behove..."

Lance's shoulder leaned up against his. God, Lance was so close to him, and he smelled so much like himself, and Keith wanted so badly to just curl up and sleep. He kept reading, though, because Lance would occasionally shift in his spot on the bed or tilt his head slightly against the wall, which meant he was still somewhat conscious and listening.

He read 3 more pages.

Lance slumped onto his shoulder, eyes still closed, maybe asleep, maybe not. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted so badly to just kiss that mouth. It was right there, and Lance's lips looked so soft. He was probably delirious, due to sleep deprivation or something. He couldn't tell if Lance was asleep or not, but he kept reading anyway, even though he could barely keep his own eyes open.

"No medicine in the world can do thee good..."

He was so tired, he let his eyes drift closed. He felt Lance's hand touch his but was too tired to see if it had been on purpose or not. He let his head fall onto Lance's, and finally succumbed to sleep.

 

Keith didn't wake up when he heard the door swing open, or when it shut closed. He was startled awake from the sound of maniacal laughter. _Pidge_.

Keith blinked open his eyes. Lance was starting to wake up beside him.

" _Hmm_?" Lance hummed, blinking his eyes groggily and lifting his head off of Keith's shoulder, drool on the side of his mouth.

Keith looked down. Lance was holding his hand. Fingers _intertwined_. Had they been like that the entire night? Keith looked back up to see Pidge-- standing in the middle of their room, their phone out, laughing evilly.

Lance noticed, and yelled, "Pidge, no!" but it was too late. Pidge was already taking rapid-fire pictures of them in their cuddling state.

"Pidge!" Lance shreiked, pulling his hand away from Keith's and scrambling off the bed. He didn't even glance at Keith once.

"I couldn't help it," Pidge giggled, "You two are adorable."

"We are not!" Keith said, turning crimson and jumping up from the bed.

"Delete those, right now." Lance warned, trying to grab the phone out of Pidge's hand.

"Over my dead body," Pidge said, eluding Lance once again and jumping on to their bed.

"That can be arranged," Keith said, folding his arms. "Wait a second, what time is it?" His class started at 8, and it was-- Keith scrambled to find his phone in the mess of blankets on his bed and then opened it-- 7:32 AM. Good, he still had time.

"Oh, cheese," Lance cursed, pulling out his own phone and seeing the time. "I'm late for work." He grabbed his coat and scarf off the bed, still avoiding Keith's eyes, and flew out the room.

"Sorry if I... interrupted something," Pidge said, grinning evilly wiggling their eyebrows.

Keith pointed a finger at Pidge. "Delete those."

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

"I know Jiu-Jitsu."

"I know how to make a robot that can turn your insides into mush."

"Touché."

Keith sat back on his bed, and silently cursed Pidge. Those pictures would probably go to Hunk, Shiro, Allura, _everyone_. And Lance and him were _holding hands_. Lance had physically grabbed his hand sometime during the night. Whether that was on purpose or by accident, Keith had no idea. And Lance hadn't even acknowledged him once after they woke up. He sighed loudly and flopped down on the mattress.

"Jeez, dude, relax. I was gonna delete them anyway."

Keith covered his face with his pillow and groaned loudly.

"Woah, man, are you okay?"

"He was... _holding my hand,_ " Keith sighed into his pillow.

Pidge snickered. "Yeah, I saw that."

"Me," Keith groaned. "Why me?"

"What _happened_ last night?" Pidge asked, taking the pillow off of his head and sitting down next to him.

"We fell asleep reading."

"Mm-hmm. _Reading_." Pidge raised an eyebrow.

Keith sat up and waved the book in Pidges face.

"Oh, fuck," Pidge said, taking the book out of Keith's hands. "I was supposed to help him study last night. I was working late at Matt's house for a robotics presentation and fell asleep there. I totally forgot..."

"Matt?" Keith asked.

"My brother."

"Oh."

"So, you guys really were just reading?"

"Not just," Keith huffed, looking down at his hand. The Lance hand. "He held my hand. And he fell asleep-- _on my shoulder_. He got drool on my shoulder, Pidge!" Keith felt hysteric.

"I'll be honest, I'm a bit surprised. I mean, I knew you guys liked eachother, but I didn't think anything would actually _happen_ between you two. Lance is a wimp when it comes to relationships, and you're _you_ , so--"

"We don't like eachother."

"Don't be an idiot, Keith," Pidge said, "I mean, I know you're an idiot, but please don't be an idiot in this exact moment. You guys obviously like eachother."

Keith put his head in his hands. "So, now what?" Pidge asked.

"Now?" Keith said, looking up at Pidge.

"Yeah, are you gonna ask him out?"

"Fuck no," Keith said.

"What are you going to do? Nothing?"

"Yep." Keith took the pillow out of Pidges hands and laid down, putting it over his face again. "That's the plan."

Keith tried to slow his breathing. Lance probably did this with everyone. First of all, Lance was an obnoxious flirt, and he had a pun, a wink, and a pick up line for every occasion, and second of all...

Well, _second of all_ , Keith thought, _who would ever want to date him?_


	10. "My Boyfwend's Back And You're Gonna Get In Trouble"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: In this chapter, there is violence, homophobia, homophobic language, and alcohol use.  
> Both characters end up fine, and there is no character death, but I thought I'd warn you just to be safe.  
> If you do not feel comfortable reading this chapter, comment below asking for a summary and I will happily give it to you :)  
> As always, thanks for reading!

Keith blinked his eyes open at the sound of his phone ringing. He had fallen asleep in his clothes-- _again_. He had gotten into this bad habit in which he'd watch Doctor Who once he was done with his schoolwork. It sounded great in theory. After all, it _did_ have it's upsides: like how whenever he watched it really late at night he would have dreams that the 11th doctor (the hottest doctor, in Keith's opinion) would take him away from the earth world and they'd get married and travel through space and time together. The downside, though, was that Keith would always fall asleep before he had the chance to brush his teeth or change his clothes-- resulting in a Keith with morning breath and yesterday's laundry to do. He was sure Pidge did _not_ appreciate that.

Keith grimaced at the time on his phone: 1:34 a.m.

Pidge let out a muffled groan and pulled their blankets up over their head.

Keith picked it up.

"Keeeeeeeef."

"...Lance?"

"Keeeeef. Keithy."

"Are you... _are you drunk_?"

"What?! No," Lance slurred. " _You're_ drunk."

He could hear yelling, music, and laughing in the background-- a bar, maybe?

Keith sat up in his bed and put a hand to his forehead. "Oh, God, you _are_ drunk."

"No I'm not, Jesus Christ." He yelled so loud at the last part that Keith had to move the phone away from his ear for a second.

"Lance, where are you? I'm coming to pick you up."

"That sounds nice. Niiiiice. Nice. Keith, you're so nice." He sounded as if he was about to cry.

"Lance, tell me where you are."

"Your mom." Lance was laughing.

" _Lance_. Where are you?"

"Ummmmm, uh, wait, hold on a sec." He started talking to someone that was at the bar with him-- Keith couldn't discern what they were saying. "Wha?" he heard Lance say. "Ohhh," Lance laughed before going back to the phone. "I'm at, uh, wait what was it again? Oh, uh, O'Neals. Oooooooooneaaaals. Did you hear that?"

"Lance, stay right there, got it?" Keith grabbed the keys from off his desk and headed out the door, not even bothering to grab his coat or his scarf. "Stay there, I'll be there in 5 minutes."

 

The bar was packed.

Keith shoved his way through the crowd of people, shouting Lance's name. He finally saw him-- he was sitting at the bar, beer in hand, talking to two hulking dudes in jerseys that looked like they played college football or something.

When Lance saw him, his face lit up. "Keef!" Lance put his arm around him.

"Lance," Keith said, "Let's get out of here."

Lance looked from Keith to the two football-looking guys. "Bitches be trippin," he laughed, throwing his hands up in the air. "Am I right?"

"Who's this?" one of the guys-- the bigger one-- drawled, pointing at Keith.

"Thissis Keef," Lance said, touching his beer to his lips. "My boyfwend."

"No," Keith said. "We're not--"

"You're a fucking fag?" The bigger guy wrinkled his nose in disgust, looking Keith over, then Lance. Lance blinked groggily, one eye before the other.

"C'mon, Lance," Keith said, "Let's go."

"Disgusting," the other guy said, making a face.

"Fuck off," Keith mumbled, and put his arm around Lances waist to escort him out.

The bigger guy put a large, hairy hand on Keith's shoulder roughly, grimacing. "What did you just say, faggot?" he spat.

Keith let go of Lance, who just leaned back against the counter lazily, giggling.

"Fuck." Keith bared his teeth and pushed his hand off his shoulder. "Off."

And then that same big, hairy fist hit Keith's face.

He stumbled backwards, his hand to his eye, before coming back and swinging into the bigger guy's nose, and he tripped over a barstool and fell on his ass. Somebody screamed, and a crowd started to form around them.

Keith touched his face and looked at his fingers: blood.

The other douche swung at him, and Keith dodged him and elbowed him in the gut. He slumped over the bar counter, knocking over a cluster of bottles and glasses in the process. The bigger guy had gotten up by now, and was sneering at Keith.

He wiped his nose, smearing blood all along his face. "C'mon, fag."

Keith's face burned. An animal snarl crawled it's way up his throat. "I'm gonna kill you," he growled. Keith lunged at him, swinging and missing. The bastard pinned him up against a wall. Then he was landing punches into his stomach, over and over again. Keith kicked the guy in the nuts, and he stumbled backwards.

While he was debilitated, Keith took the opportunity to go over to Lance, who was still drowsily leaning his back against the bar. He put his arm around Lance's waist and started guiding him near the door. Lance slumped on his shoulder, closing his eyes.

The guy that had lunged at Keith before was standing now. He stepped toward Keith but some guy that looked like a pro wrestler (Keith guessed he was the bartender; he was wearing an apron) put a heavy hand on his chest, pushing him back.

Keith fled out the door, Lance on his arm. He winced; his head was throbbing, his knuckles and eye were swelling fast, and his stomach ached.

"Lance? Lance, are you okay?" he said, breathless.

Lance's head snapped up off his shoulder and he blinked at him. "Oh! Hey Keef! Hey, I am soooo so so so so so so--"

"Lance--"

Lance held up a finger. "Hold up, rude. I was talking. As I was saying, I am so so so so so so so so so so glad to see you."

"Okay, Lance. Let's just get you out of here."

"You, my friend, have a waaaaaaaay above average face, you know that? Keef, listen. I'm just thinking, I've been thinking. You know, your hair, it looks so soft." Lance's hand wandered up to Keith's head, but he smacked his hand away.

"Lance--"

"I want to touch it."

Keith sat Lance down on his motorcycle, and Lance pulled him down by his jean jacket collar so their noses were almost touching and Lances breath was on his own. Keith winced, his breath reeked of beer. "You're so pretty, Keith. Keith. Keeeeith."

Keith turned scarlet and squirmed away from his grip, but Lance just grasped his jacket and pulled him down again. "Your eyes... they're like, like... a glittering, shining, crystal-clear pool."

Keith rolled his eyes and pulled away from him. "My eyes are brown, Lance."

"A muddy pool," Lance giggled.

Keith took his helmet and placed it carefully on Lance's head. "I'm an astronaut!" he gasped, grinning.

Keith straddled the bike so that Lance was in front of him; that way, there was no chance Lance could fall off if he let go.

"Keef."

"What, Lance?"

"You smell like creme brulee. Like manly creme brulee."

"Okay," Keith said, revving the engine. "Hold on."

 

Keith decided to take Lance home-- not to the dorms, where there were probably still parties going on and drunk people milling about. Lance's house was quieter-- and safer.

When Keith got inside, he didn't even think to address his own wounds. He just took Lance (Carried him, actually. Princess style. He was surprisingly light.) to the couch in his living room. He set him down carefully and pulled a nearby blanket over him, before he sat down on the ground next to him.

"Keith..." Lance mumbled, blinking open his eyes halfway.

This didn't seem like the Lance he knew. He didn't smell like coffee. He smelled like beer.

"What? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," He giggled. "Motorcycles are scary."

"Lance, are you gonna throw up?"

"No, I..." He closed his eyes and mumbled something in Spanish.

"Lance?"

He was asleep.

 

Keith didn't sleep that night. He checked on Lance, made a grilled cheese with their pantry food, played games on his phone just to keep him distracted-- but he did _not_ sleep. He was too afraid of Lance throwing up, or dying or something.

He stared at Lance, who was still in the same position he had left him in: one arm hanging off the couch, one arm underneath him, snoring and drooling all over the couch cushion. Jesus, Keith really wanted to hate him. He really did. Lance was a train that was off the rails, and Keith felt like the stupid engineer that was trying to keep it from running off a cliff. He didn't have time for this. Hell, he didn't have the mental capacity for this. All these mind games and arguments and trying to keep Lance away from assholes. He didn't want to do this.

 _Then don't_ , a voice in his head said.

Keith shook his head. One side of him wanted to go back to the way he had always lived-- alone. The other side of him --the irrational side-- wanted to stick with Lance. No matter what.

By 8 AM, he was so tired of sitting around the house by himself that he decided to wake Lance up. Lance lay a sprawled mess on the couch; his arms all spread out and one leg hanging in the air.

"Lance."

Keith kicked his dangling foot in an attempt to wake him up. Lance mumbled something in Spanish into the couch cushion, and Keith kicked his foot again.

" _Lance_."

"Hmmph?" Lance lifted his head up from the couch and squinted upwards. "Keith?"

"Yeah, genius," Keith said, rolling his eyes.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What happened to your face? And what're you doing here?" He looked around the room, absorbing his surroundings with a furrowed brow. "Why am I on the couch?"

"You don't remember?"

Lance's eyes went wide. "Oh no." Lance put his head in his hands.

Keith nodded. "Yep."

"Cruuuuud."

"Yep."

"Was I drunk last night?"

"Yep."

"Cruuuud." He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes again.

"Wait a second, so you don't remember _anything_ from last night?"

"Why? What did I do?" Lance's eyes went wide with worry as he looked up at Keith.

Keith shook his head, remembering all that Lance had said to him the night before. "Nothing. . . nothing happened."

Lance let out a sigh of relief. "What about your face?"

"I, uh, fell down the stairs."

Lance started to stand up. "Lemme get you some ice or--"

"No." Keith touched his eye and winced. "I'm fine."

Lance sat back down. "Um, okay, but--"

"Look, you shouldn't be drinking, Lance. You're underage. And you were by yourself at the bar. That's stupid."

"Thanks," Lance laughed, "but I generally don't take advice from guys who wear fingerless gloves."

Keith looked at his gloved-hands before shoving them in his jacket pockets, agitated. "Lance I'm serious." Lance rolled his eyes. "So am I. Keith, I can take care of myself."

"Obviously, you can't." Lance scoffed.

"What do you mean?"

"Last night..." Keith sighed and looked down at the floor. "I didn't fall down the stairs."

" _What_?"

"I got in a fight with the two assholes you were all buddy-buddy with last night."

"Who?"

"Fuck if I know."

"They..." Lance pointed at his own eye. "They gave you that? They punched you?"

"Yeah, and they probably would've given you worse if I hadn't gotten you out of there."

"I'm sorry, man."

Keith shook his head like he was shaking off the apology. "Don't be. Just--" he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why were you drunk, anyway?"

Lance laughed. "Uh, because I was drinking. Alcohol."

"Well, obviously," Keith rolled his eyes. "But like... why?"

Lance laughed. "I'm guessing you've never drank before?"

"My foster dad was an alcoholic. . . " Keith shrugged, crossing his arms. "I just never really wanted to."

Lances smile fell immediately, and his face turned into what Keith recognized as regret.

"Oh. I'm sorry I--"

Keith just shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

That was the truth, it really didn't matter. His foster parents were a thing of his past. Or at least that's what he told himself.

Keith looked at Lance, expectant. "Are you going to answer my question?"

"I don't know, It's just. . . It's fun to go to bars. To meet people."

Keith looked up to the ceiling, annoyed. "Well, there's no point in having fun if you're not even going to remember it the next morning."

He ran a hand through his messy hair. When Lance didn't say anything, Keith continued. "It's stupid," Keith said, shifting his weight on his hips.

"Okay."

"Like, _really_ stupid. You shouldn't be alone when you're drunk. If you want to drink, you can call me or something. I'll be your-" Keith made a gesture, like he was trying to find the least lame-sounding words to use, "your designated driver. Or something."

"Okay."

Keith unfolded his arms and let out a breath, satisfied.

"Imagine that," Lance laughed.

"What?"

Lance grinned. Even hungover he looked gorgeous. "Little Red Riding Hood keeping the big bad wolf safe."

Keith just shook his head, a smirk on his face, as he sat down next to Lance on the couch. "You're not the wolf. You're more like the grandma in this situation."

Lance just laughed, and then he looked down at his lap again. "I'm. . . I'm sorry about your dad, I didn't know--"

"It's fine," Keith said, shaking his head, "It doesn't matter. . . And he's not my dad."

Lance nodded and Keith shifted uncomfortably, realizing that their legs were touching, even though Lance's were under the blanket.

"Um, okay, well, I should go--" Keith said, getting up from the couch.

"Do you wanna stay? We have poptarts. And video games."

Keith blinked. "Sure."

"Okay, good. But first, we need to get your eye cleaned up."

 

Keith sat on the counter of the bathroom sink as Lance shuffled through his First Aid Kit. He pulled out a few bottles and some gauze before putting some sort of ointment on a cloth.

"What is that?" Keith asked.

"Bacitracin," he said. "It'll help to prevent infection."

Keith nodded.

"So, what did you do to make those guys punch you?" Lance asked.

"Why would you just assume that _I_ did something to make _them_ punch _me_?"

"C'mon, I can't be the only one who finds you unbearable." Keith glared at him. "I'm kidding," Lance laughed.

Lance put the cloth to his eye, and Keith flinched. "Ow."

"Whoops, sorry," Lance said, pulling away.

"It's fine," Keith said. Keith took his hand and put the cloth to his eye again.

"Really though, what happened?" Lance said, touching the cloth lightly around his eye.

"They were," Keith balled his fists on his knees. Just thinking about it was getting him angry all over again. "They were talking shit about you."

" _What_?" Lance said. "What did they say?"

Keith looked down at his fists; his knuckles were white. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Well, thanks for standing up for me." Lance stopped to look at him, smiling softly.

"It was, ah--" Keith cleared his throat and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. He could feel himself blushing. "It was nothing."

Lance smiled and put a bandage on his cheekbone gingerly.

"Thanks," Keith said.

"It's the least I could do." Lance broke his gaze and closed the First Aid Kit. "Your eye is already starting to bruise. Looks like you're gonna have a black eye."

Keith smirked. "Wouldn't be the first."

"You, uh, get into fights a lot?"

"I mean, I don't go out looking for them, but there's... well, there's a lot of shitty people out there. A lot of people that like to belittle other people to make themselves feel bigger. And I just-- I can't stand it. I can't stand and just watch that shit happen."

Lance nodded. "Well, thanks for saving me in there."

Keith bit his lip.

"So, uh, for your eye, you'll have to put something cold on it everyday. That'll help stop the swelling. Also, you'll have to change the bandage about twice a day."

Keith nodded. "How do you know so much about this sorta stuff, anyway?"

Lance shrugged. "I'm taking a class on nursing."

"Is that what you're wanting to do as, like, a job?"

He shrugged again. "Maybe. I like making people happy, taking care of people. I wanna do something that's gonna make a difference, you know?" Keith nodded. "Anyway," Lance clapped his hands together. "Anywhere else you want me to check out?"

"Well, they hit me in the stomach a few times...." Keith lifted up his shirt, and Lance looked down at Keith's abs.

"Fuck--" He clasped a hand over his mouth "Sorry. It's just... you're really..." he cleared his throat. "That's a pretty big bruise. How bad did those guys beat you up?"

"Oh," Keith smirked. "You should see them."

Lance put his head in his hands. "Jeez, I feel terrible."

"Hey, I know how to make a really good hangover smoothie."

"No, it's not that-- I mean, it _is_ that. I'm, like, super hungover right now-- but you got in a fight because of me. _For_ me."

"Lance, it's fine--"

"It's not, Keith, it's really not. It's not fair to you. I mean--"

Keith put a hand in the air. " _Lance_. When you drunk called me last night, I didn't have to pick up. I didn't have to go get you at the bar. I didn't have to fight those guys. I did it because I wanted to. Because I--" _Because I like you. Because I like-like you and I want to punch your mouth with my mouth._ "Because those guys were jerks."

Lance nodded. "Well, thanks. It wont happen again... and the black eye will be gone in about a week or so."

 

They ate poptarts. Keith made Lance the hangover smoothie. Keith insisted they watched Stranger Things after finding out that Lance had never seen it.

They finished the season.

" _That's_ how it ends?" Lances eyes bulged.

"Yeah," Keith nodded.

"When is the next season coming out?"

"Next October."

" _What_?" Lance put his head in his hands. "I can't wait that long."

Keith laughed. "So, you liked it?"

"Are you kidding? I loved it." Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "So, what do you want to do now?"

They decided on Mario Kart.

Keith chose Waluigi.

Lance chose Princess Peach.

"So, which arena do you wanna drive in?" Keith asked, crossing his legs.

"Doesn't matter, I'm basically an expert."

"You're sounding awfully confident for a guy who's about to get his ass kicked."

"Are you sure about that, mullet?"

"Are you challenging me right now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so what're we betting on here?"

"Loser has to write the others essay?"

"I don't want you writing my essay," Keith scoffed. "How 'bout. . . Loser has to buy the winner food."

"We already do that."

"Oh, yeah."

"How about... the loser has to kiss the winner?" Lance looked at Keith sideways, a grin on his face.

Keith's brain short circuited.

Lance just giggled and chose the arena. Keith, still reeling over the kiss thing, lost miserably.

"Welp," Lance shrugged, dropping his controller and looking over at Keith, "looks like you'll have to kiss me."

Keith's face turned scarlet and he stumbled off the couch, almost falling as he got up. "I have to go."

"What? Keith, buddy, it was a joke! My man!"

Keith tripped and actually fell this time, and he hit his head on the wooden floor. "Ow."

Lance stood over him, laughing. "Dude, it was just a joke. You didn't have to have an aneurysm."

"Yeah," Keith forced a laugh. "A joke."

Lance offered a hand and Keith took it, standing up. "Is your head okay? You hit the floor pretty hard."

"I'm good," Keith said, rubbing the back of his head. "Um, I should probably go."

"What? No," Lance said, "Stay. Hunk is probably gonna get home from work soon, and Allura and Shiro will be back by seven. We could all do something--"

"I don't know, I've got a lot of work to do."

Lance nodded. "Well, at least let me drive you home."

"No, you don't have to--"

"Keith, a black eye can impair your eyesight and cause disillusionment. As your doctor, I cannot let you drive."

Keith laughed. "You're _not_ my doctor."

"Fine. As your nurse, I--"

"You're not my nurse either."

"Well, as your friend who has taken half of a college course on Nursing, I hereby forbid you to drive."

Keith rolled his eyes. "Fine. But I want my motorcycle back by tomorrow."

Lance grinned and winked at him. "Deal."

The whole ride was hell for Keith. It wasn't actually, but Lance had barfed out so much flirty adorableness during the ride that by the time he dropped him off, Keith was a blushing, stuttering mess.

After Lance drove off, Keith practically ran to his room. He slammed the door behind him, taking a breath as he leaned against the door. Pidge looked up from their book.

"Woah! What happened to your face? It's all jacked."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Let me guess: Lance?"

Keith nodded, letting his head fall in his hands as he let out a groan. "He makes me so angry. . . But, like, angry in my pants."

Keith looked up in desperation, and Pidge let out a disgusted 'ugh'.

"Okay, first of all: gross. Second of all," Pidge was grinning, shaking their head. "You are so smitten."

"What?"

" _Smit-ten,_ " Pidge anunciated.

Keith shook his head. "I think he's trying to kill me slowly with gentlemanly charm."

"That sounds like Lance," Pidge laughed.

"I just need some air," Keith breathed, picking up the textbook on his desk and fanning himself with it.

"Look, just be cool. I know he likes you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Keith groaned, flopping on his bed.

Pidge threw their hands in the air. "Okay, _now_ I'm confused."

Keith sat up, massaging his temples. "I mean, what if he tries to hold my hand or kiss me or something? What if. . . what if I sneeze while he's trying to kiss me? What do I do then? I can't handle that sort of stress."

Pidge laughed, rolling their eyes. "It's not gonna kill you Keith."

Keith let his head fall back on his pillow. "I'm not so sure," he mumbled.


	11. "A Date With Holden"

Keith opened the door to his room, only to find Lance sitting on Pidge's desk, his legs on the chair.

"Keith!" He wiggled his eyebrows comically. "Where were you? On a date?"

Keith hated the way he said that-- like it was a preposterous idea. Like no one in the world was crazy enough to go out with _him_.

_Keith. On a date. Hilarious._

He tried not to let his anger show through.

"I was at the Library," he said, closing the door.

"I love the library!" Lance grinned.

Keith scoffed, sitting down at his desk and opening up his laptop. "You? You love the library? I thought you didn't read."

He shrugged, scratching the scruff on his chin. He must've forgotten to shave. "I still like it. I always get lost in the library, no matter how many times I go. I think I get lost there _more_ , the more that I go. Like it's getting to know me and revealing new passages."

"You spend a lot of time in the library?"

"I do, actually."

Keith went back to his computer, smirking. "How is that possible when you're always in my room?"

"Where do you think I sleep?"

When Keith looked back at him, Lance was grinning.

Lance practically fell off Pidge's desk and then flopped down on Keith's bed. He was dressed in black-- he must have just gotten off work.

Keith frowned at him. "I still can't believe you work at Starbucks," he said, shaking his head.

"What's wrong with Starbucks?"

"Its a big, faceless corporation."

He raised an eyebrow, smiling. "So far, they've let me keep my face."

Keith rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile.

"I like my job," Lance said. "I see the same people everyday. I remember their drinks, they like that I remember their drinks, I make them happy, and then they leave. It's like being a bartender, except you don't have to deal with drunks. _Speaking of_ ," he looked down at his hands sheepishly, "I still feel bad about the other night."

Keith shrugged and subconsciously touched the bandage under his black eye. "It's fine. My eye is getting better and... You can do whatever you want."

"Still," he said. "I'm sorry. If I had known--"

"Lance, it really is fine. We don't have to talk about it."

He nodded. Keith went back to his computer.

"Hey," Lance whispered.

" _What,_ " Keith huffed, turning to Lance.

"Will you read me something?"

"What? No."

"C'mon, read me something."

"Why?"

"Because I like stories," he said, taking Keith's pillow and clutching it to his chest. "I like your voice."

Keith scoffed. "You just want to make fun of me."

"I won't," he said. "I promise."

"Isn't that what you do when I'm not around? Make fun of me? Talk about my hair?"

"No," he winced. "Keith."

"I don't exist to amuse you, you know."

"One, are you sure? Because you do. And two, we don't make fun of your hair. Very much. Anymore. And three..." Lance was counting on his fingers, and his cheeks were twitching to keep from laughing, and it was making Keith laugh. "Three," he said, "I won't make fun of you, to anyone but you, if you'll just once, right now, read me something."

Keith gave him a level stare. A mostly level stare. He was still giggling a little. And biting his lip. And occasionally looking up at the ceiling.

"What do you want me to read?" he asked.

" _Anything_."

Keith thought of all the work he had to do for Astronomy. "Lance, I really don't have time for--"

"Please." He put his hands together as if he was praying and made a pouty face, curving his eyebrows. "Just one, itty bitty chapter."

Keith rolled his eyes, giving in.

"Fine," Keith said, pointing a finger at lance. "One chapter. That's it."

"That's all I'm asking," Lance smiled, holding up his hands.

"What do you want me to read?"

Lance shrugged. "I don't know. What's your favorite?

"You want me to choose _one_?" Keith said indignantly.

Lance bit his lip, grinning at Keith.

"That," he said, his grin spreading even wider, "Is why I like you, Keithy."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "You like me because I know how to read?"

"You know what I mean," Lance laughed. "So, what's it gonna be?"

Keith slid out the cardboard box of books under his bed and started shuffling through all of them. _The Great Gatsby?_  Keith thought. _Nah, way too much exposition. Lance would be bored in a second... Bridge To Terebithia?_ He put a finger to his chin.  _Not that one either, way too depressing._  He pulled out The Catcher in the Rye --one of his favorites-- and held it up for Lance to see. "What about this?"

"I like the cover."

"Good enough for me." Keith sat down in his desk chair and opened it to the first page.

"Alright," Lance said. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, still holding Keith's pillow.

Keith looked down at the book in his hands and cleared his throat. (Then felt stupid about clearing his throat.) Then he glanced back at Lance one more time; his eyes were still closed.

He couldn't believe he was doing this... Was he really doing this?

_"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born..."_

After a while, Keith glanced over at Lance. His eyes were still closed. After a second, he opened one. "Is it over?"

"No," he said. "I just didn't know if you wanted me to go on... Are you bored?"

Lance closed his eyes and shook his head. "Don't be stupid. Keep going."

Keith looked at him another second. At the smile lines in his cheeks, which were insanely apparent when he wasn't grinning. His jaw. His perfect, freckle-dotted upturned nose.

He looked back at the book, shaking his head, and continued:

_"The reason I was standing way up on Thomson Hill..."_

When Keith finished the chapter, Lance blinked open his eyes.

"That's it?" he said. " _That's_ the first chapter?"

Keith nodded.

"It's kind of short." Lance squinted at Keith.

Keith nodded again, looking down at the cover. "Yeah."

"I like it."

Keith looked up to Lance. "You do?"

"Yeah. I like it," he grinned. "I like Holden. He's angsty... Like you. Maybe you'll read me the next chapter tomorrow?"

Keith smiled and went back to his computer. "Maybe."

He went back to typing about nebulae on his computer, when Pidge barged in, kicking open the door. That's the way Pidge always entered; there was about a million dusty shoeprints on the base of the door.

"Lance, what are you doing here?" Pidge grinned.

"Just hittin' up my boy Keith. And waiting for you. Wanna study?"

"Yeah, but let's get coffee first. On me."

Lance grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

He turned his grin over to Keith. "Wanna tag along? We're studying Newton's Laws. _Very_ interesting."

He was so close to saying yes. Lance could make anything interesting-- even physics.

He shook his head no.

 

\-- the next day--

 

Keith had been trying to write his essay for over an hour, but it was impossible.

Every time Keith would start a sentence, his mind would just flop back to thinking about Lance. Lance and his stupid perfect face and his stupid perfect smile and his stupid perfect eyes.

Keith put his head in his hands. He was so fucked.

Keith phone rang on his desk, and he looked at the screen.  _Lance_.

He wanted to hit decline.

He _so_ wanted to hit decline.

He answered it.

"Think of the devil," Keith said, then wished he hadn't.

"You were thinking about me?" Keith could almost hear Lances grin over the phone.

"I was thinking... of the devil," Keith said stupidly.

Lance laughed, and Keith put a hand to his forehead, blushing and simultaneously wishing he didn't exist.

"Can I ask you something?"

Keith bit his lip. "Shoot."

"Well, we're having a Halloween party at my place Friday. I was wondering..." He faded off for a second. "Well, I was wondering if you'd come."

"Lance, parties really aren't my scene."

Lance laughed. "Yeah, I could've guessed that. But It'll be fun. Pidge is coming. And there'll be food and drinks and music and--"

"What would I even do at your party, Lance?"

"Have fun," he said. Keith could tell he was smiling again.

Keith tried not to. "Not drink. Not smoke. Not get high."

"Is that really what you think I do all the time?" he asked. Keith didn't reply. "You could... You could talk to people."

"I don't like talking to drunk people."

"Just because people will be drinking doesn't mean they'll be drunk. I won't be drunk. I don't think I'll be drinking for a while, actually." He laughed.

"I don't need to go to a party to talk to you... Did Pidge tell you to invite me?"

"What? No, I--"

"Have fun at your party, Lance."

"Wait-- _Keith_."

"What?" He said it like he was being hassled, but he wasn't. Not really.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to write an essay. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just got off work. Why don't we start reading chapter two of that book..."

"What book?" Keith knew what book.

"You know," he said. "Catcher in the Rye. Mrs. Spencer was just about to invite Holden inside."

"You want me to read to you over the phone?"

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to read to you over the phone, Lance."

There was a knock at the door. Keith eyed it suspiciously.

More knocking.

"I know that's you," Keith said into the phone.

Lance laughed. Keith got up and opened the door, ending the call.

"You're ridiculous."

Lance smiled, eyes shining. "I brought you coffee. Actually, they're more like melted candy bars. Chai or Pumpkin Spice? Oh, and they're both soymilk, so whatever you choose, you're safe."

Keith smiled in resignation and took the Pumpkin Spice latte.

"You're welcome," Lance said. He sat on Keith's bed and and smiled expectantly at him.

"You're serious?"

"And you're stalling," he grinned. "C'mon, Keith. I want to know what happens next."

Keith sat down at his desk chair and picked up the book from his desk. He couldn't believe he was doing this. _Again_. But Lance seemed genuinely interested-- which was actually kind of sweet, Keith thought.

He took a sip of his latte before opening up to where they left off. Lance closed his eyes. Keith cleared his throat.

_"They each had their own room and all..."_

Keith realized he'd started doing the characters voices-- at least doing the versions he had always heard in his head. He glanced over at Lance to see if he'd noticed. He was holding his cup with both hands against his chest and resting his chin on top, like it was keeping him warm. His eyes were open and unfocused like a kid watching TV.

Keith took another sip of his latte and continued:

_"He put my paper down then and looked at me like he'd just beaten hell out of me in ping pong or something--"_

Lance laughed, and Keith glared at him.

Lance looked at him. "What?" he grinned. " _That was funny_!"

Keith rolled his eyes, even though he was secretly happy Lance was enjoying the book.

His eyes wandered back down to the page:

_"I don't think I'll ever forgive him for reading that crap out loud..."_

After he was finished with the chapter, Lance looked at him expectantly. " _What_? It's over already?"

"You said it yourself, the chapters are really short."

"Can't you read more than one chapter at a--"

The door flew open, and for once, Keith thought, Pidge's timing was perfect. Keith closed the book, to let Lance know he was done reading.

"Oh, hey!" Pidge smiled. "Starbucks. Did you bring me a Pumpkin Spice Latte?"

Keith looked guiltily down at his own cup.

"I brought you a chai latte," Lance said, holding his out. "And I've been keeping it warm in my mouth."

Pidge grimaced, but took the cup anyway. "I'm going to the food court. Meet me there in a bit?"

Lance nodded, and Pidge left, leaving the door open behind them.

Lance turned to Keith. "Look. About the party--"

" _Lance_ ," Keith warned.

Lance put his hands up, as if surrendering. "I know you're not a party person, but I also know you'll have fun. Please?"

Keith looked up at the ceiling, then back at a pouty-eyed Lance. "Fine," he grumbled.

"Great!" Lance jumped up off the bed and stretched. Keith attempted to ignore the bit of skin that showed when his shirt rose above his jeans. (Unsuccessfully.)

"I'll text you the details," he said, shooting Keith finger guns. "Oh! I almost forgot-- you _have_ to wear a costume."

"There is no way in hell--"

"Please!" Lance crossed his arms. "You have to or you're not coming."

Keith just smirked, crossing his arms back. "Fine, I won't go."

"No! I take it back! Just-- Please wear a costume. It's fun. You want to have fun, right?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Plus, if you wear your regular clothes everyone will just think you just dressed up as Gerard Way."

"Lance, no one will think that."

Lance pouted at him again, and Keith rolled his eyes, giving in to Lance for probably the third time today.

"Okay, Fine," Keith grumbled. "I'll wear your damn costume. But don't expect anything amazing."

Lance grinned, triumphant, before starting out the door. "See you there."


	12. "All I Want To Know Is..."

Keith was going to the party.

 

He was forcing himself to.

 

He didn't actually  _ want _ to go-- God, he'd rather spend his Friday night spooning a rabid bear than go to a dumb college party.

He wouldn't be doing any of this if it weren't for-- well, if it weren't for Lance. 

Lance was going to be there. Lance had  _ invited him. _

Keith let out a sigh.  _ Lance.  _ He just couldn't get him out of his head lately. It was like Lance cast some magic spell on him-- he could barely get his work done, or read, or eat, or do  _ anything _ without Lance being at the forefront of his mind. The thing was, there was so much to think  _ about _ . Keith could write a 5-Paragraph Essay on Lance's smile alone.

Keith brought the eyeliner up to his face to make the final black whisker. After scouring the internet for possible costumes, he had finally opted for dressing up as a cat-- it seemed like the easiest, and least painful, option. He had borrowed the eyeliner from Shiro for his nose and whiskers, bought the cat ears from their local pop-up Halloween store, and was wearing his regular black attire. 

 

Pidges mouth dropped open when they saw Keith.

 

“Oh. My God. You're actually going?”

 

Keith shrugged. “Yeah?”

 

They shook their head, mouth still agape. “I can't believe it. You're actually going to a  _ real _ party.”

 

“What makes you think I've never been to a party?”

 

Pidge laughed. “Keith, I know you well enough to know you've never been to a party.”

 

Keith scoffed. “I have, too!”

 

“Oh yeah? When?” Pidge crossed their arms in the doorway. “And parties with cake don't count.”

 

“They don't?”

 

“No.”

 

Keith turned back to the mirror and touched up his nose, which was already starting to smudge off a bit. “Fine. I've never been to a party. Or a  _ real _ party, whatever  _ that _ means.”

 

“It means there's no parents around, watching your every move. No cake. No piñatas. No magicians, no clowns.”

 

“I think there might actually be some clowns, Pidge, seeing as it's a costume party.”

 

“You nervous?”

 

“What? No,” Keith scoffed, trying not to let his anxiety show through his voice.

 

Pidge rolled their eyes and uncrossed their arms. “You are. Look dude, don't worry. It'll be fun, I promise. There'll be beer, piss punch, people making out in literally  _ every room.”  _ Pidge shuddered. “I think I actually just convinced myself into  _ not  _ going.”

 

“It all sounds very appetizing.”

 

“Mhmm,” Pidge hummed, walking over to throw their bag on their bed.

 

“What are you going as?” Keith asked.

 

“The Doppler Effect.”

 

“The what?”

 

“Oh come on, you know!”

 

“What the hell is the Bopper effect?”

 

“ _ Doppler  _ effect. You know, the apparent change in the frequency of a wave caused by relative motion between the source of the wave and the observer.”

 

Keith just gave Pidge a blank stare.

 

“Here, I'll give you an example.” Pidge cleared their throat and closed their eyes, before screeching the loudest siren sound a human could make with such a tiny body.

 

Keith covered his ears, wincing, and Pidge stopped, straight-faced.

 

“Um, I don't think anyone's going to get that, Pidge.”

 

They shrugged. “I guess you're right,” Pidge sighed, “Bunch of unintelligent inbreeds…” Their voice trailed off as they turned to their closet and pulled out their costume-- a black shirt and pants with vertical white lines across it, and a small white dot in the middle. “Nice, huh?”

 

Keith had no idea what the lines and the dot were supposed to represent, but he smiled anyway. “Nice.”

 

“And  _ your _ costume is Oscar-worthy. Very original.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Shut up. I know it's bad.”

 

“No, I'm serious! You make--” Pidge stifled a laugh, “You make a great pussy.”

 

Keith threw the eyeliner at them, but they dodged it, laughing. 

Keith just rolled his eyes and went back to looking in the mirror. He straightened the black cat ear headband on his head; it definitely looked stupid, but hopefully it was enough to get Lance off his case about wearing a costume.

 

Pidge flopped on their bed and pulled out their phone, still giggling. “Hey, if you’re nervous you can drive there with me if you want. Matt's picking me up.”

 

“Nah, I'm good,” Keith said, “I'll go alone, just in case I have a mental break down or something and have to drive myself home.”

 

Pidge shook their head, snickering. “Keith Kogane, you are a party  _ animal.” _

 

Keith grabbed his keys from off his desk and swung open the door. He turned to Pidge and saluted. “Into battle,” Keith said meekly.

 

Pidge saluted back, grinning. “Be brave, soldier.”

 

\--

 

Keith stood outside the familiar yellow house, only it hardly looked familiar. 

Music, yelling, and laughter echoed down the street, which was packed tight with cars.

There were Styrofoam gravestones stuck in the scraggly grass of the front yard, streamers strewn everywhere, and a plastic skeleton sprawled out on the front steps as if he had a little too much to drink. Keith was sure it was symbolic of something (the skeleton’s face seemed to say “get out while you still can!”), but he stepped up the creaking front steps anyway.

 

It looked like something out of a movie.

Big frat guys chugging red solo cups while others cheered them on, girls in revealing costumes, pop music blasting out of every speaker, and a whole sea of people dancing in the center.  _ I'm drowning _ , Keith thought, squeezing through the crowd.  _ Is there a lifeguard?  _

Two girls wearing Slutty Nurse costumes waved at him, giggling, before whispering to each other. He forced a polite smile, uncomfortable, before continuing to push his way through the crowd.  _ Where the hell was Lance?  _

Keith was just about to just give up and leave until he finally saw him. Keith's breath caught in his throat.

He was near the center of the dance floor,wearing an intricate cowboy costume, complete with an embroidered western shirt, a vest, blue jeans, and the traditional cowboy boots and hat. He was dancing wildly with no one in particular, like the whole room was his dance partner. He danced loosely, occasionally running his fingers through his hair as if to make sure it was still messy, and shaking his hips.  _ God, those hips _ . Lance spotted Keith and immediately stopped dancing, breaking into a devilish grin.    
_ Oh no oh no oh no oh no-- _

  
" _ Ke-ith _ ," he said in a sing songy voice. He twirled an imaginary lasso in the air, pretended to hook it around Keith, and started to make his way towards him in little jumps, pulling the imaginary rope.

  
"Lance,  _ no _ ." Keith tried to get away, but it was too crowded. Lance jumped his last jump toward Keith, so both of them were less than a foot apart.

  
"Howdy, partner," Lance grinned, tipping his cowboy hat. "Glad you could come." He was shouting a little to be heard over the music.

  
"Seems like a good party," Keith nodded, and Lance's grin grew. 

“Not too crazy for you?”

Keith shook his head. “Nah,” he lied. Secretly, he kinda wanted to curl up in a ball or go back to his dorm and watch The X Files.  “Nothing I can't handle.” 

  
“Good.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows. "So, how do I look?" Lance spun around, and the tassels on his vest spun with him.

  
"Like an idiot," Keith smiled.

  
"Sweet." Lance said, and then laughed, looking Keith over. "Yours isn't much better, though. You look like Fleayoncé." 

  
Keith just rolled his eyes and gave him the bird, but Lance just cracked up again.   
"It's just-- It's hard to take you seriously when," Lance chuckled, "when you have whiskers." 

  
"Shut up." Keith punched his shoulder, still smiling.

  
"I'm just joking, you look adorable."

  
"I am  _ not _ adorable." 

  
Lance rolled his eyes, smiling.   
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Lance half talked, half yelled as he moved to the beat. "Why aren't you dancing?" 

  
"I don't dance," Keith said flatly. Lance scoffed.

  
"We'll it's about time you put on your dancing pants, Kogane."

  
"I swear to God, Lance, if you--"

  
It was too late. Lance had already pulled him on the dance floor. 

  
And then they were dancing together.

  
Correction:  _ Lance _ was dancing. Keith was standing there awkwardly, wondering what to do with himself.

  
"I told you, I can't dance," he said, putting a hand over his face to hide his blushing.

  
"Sure you can," Lance smiled, and took Keith's hands in his own. "I'll help you."   
Lance spun him around and moved Keith's arms, making him dance.

 

_ You shine like a star _ __   
_ You know who you are _ _   
_ __ You're everything beautiful …

 

Keith didn't recognize the song, but still tried to feel the music, cautiously moving his hips to the beat.    
"There you go, you're getting it!" Lance laughed and spun Keith around again, his cheeks pink. 

 

_ Hot like the sun _ __   
_ The loneliest one _ _   
_ __ Still everything beautiful...

  
Keith winced. "Im terrible."

  
"You're doing great."

  
Keith roll ed his eyes, laughing.  "You're joking, right?"

  
"Pfft. I never joke."

  
"You  _ always  _ joke."

  
"Well, not his time." Lance squeezed his hands, and Keith squeezed his back.

 

_ It's all inside you now _ __   
_ It's everything beautiful _ __   
__ But what are you running from?   
  


Lance grinned and twirled him around again. Now they were dancing, really dancing. Keith still didn't know what the hell he was doing, but with Lance in control of his hands, it wasn't so bad. Keith hated to admit it to himself, but it was actually sorta  _ fun _ . Lance was a good dancer; he was surprised he had chosen Keith, who was probably the most socially awkward person at the party, to be his dance partner.

They didn't stop dancing when the song changed. 

 

_ All I want to get is a little bit closer _ _   
_ _ All I want to know is, can you come a little closer? _

 

By then they had been dancing so long that Keith had started to get a bit breathless. He looked at Lance; the hairs on his forehead were stuck flat with sweat.

  
_ Here comes the breath before we get a little bit closer _ _   
_ _ Here comes the rush before we touch, come a little closer… _

 

Lance spun him around again, visibly blushing, and Keith could feel heat radiating off of his face.

 

_ I won't treat you like you're oh so typical… _

 

They stopped dancing when Lance froze suddenly. Keith let out a breath, sweating.   
"What?" Keith asked sarcastically, "too embarrassed to continue?"

  
Lance shook his head. He locked his eyes with Lance, and Keith let him. His face. Keith had never seen Lance's face like that. He looked. . . thoughtful. His eyebrows were all twisted. 

  
". . . Lance? You okay?" Keith looked down, realizing they were still holding hands, and pulled his away. 

  
"Sorry, it's just. . ." Lance was still giving him that look. 

Keith rolled his eyes.   
"Lance, I swear to god, if you're about to make a fucking  _ pun _ \--"

Somebody bumped Keith from the back-- sending him straight into Lance. Lance caught him by the waist, and Keith's hands fell on his shoulders.

“Uh…” Lance's face went crimson as he looked down at Keith. He managed a weak smile and laughed awkwardly. “I guess you fell for me, huh?”

Keith practically jumped off Lance. “Sorry.”

“It's, uh, no problem,” Lance laughed, still a bright shade of red. “Glad I caught you.” 

Lance grabbed his hand again like they were going to dance, but they didn't move an inch. Keith's stomach did a somersault.

“Me too,” Keith said.

 

_ Here come the dreams of you and me... _

  
Lance cleared his throat, shaking his head. "Hey, uh, you wanna step outside for a sec?" Lance asked, eyebrows still furrowed.   
Keith blinked. "Sure."   
  


Lance led the way into the backyard, which was really just a green lawn, a small lemon tree, and a few plastic chairs around a table. He looked up to the sky and sighed, both of his thumbs stuck in his belt loops. Keith shut the door, and they were shrouded in silence. 

Keith stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned to him. “So, uh, what did you want to do out here?”

He shrugged. “Kinda just wanted to get away from the party a little while. Things can get pretty crazy…” He scratched the back of his head before he locked eyes with Keith. “Okay, can I ask you something?”

Keith swallowed. “Shoot.”

“Do you  _ really _ like the party?”

_ Yes. No.  _

Keith decided to be honest. 

He closed his eyes. “ _ I mean _ \--”

“I knew it!” Lance laughed, pointing a finger at Keith. “I knew you didn't like the party!”

“I told you,” Keith said, putting his hands up, “I'm not a party person!”

“Yes, but you also said you don't dance.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “You could hardly call  _ that _ dancing.”

“Whatever, it was cute.”

Keith crossed his arms and scowled, but Lance just laughed.

“I told you, I'm  _ not cute _ .”

“Yeah, yeah…” Lance waved a hand and looked up to the sky again.

Keith stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking next to him and looking up.

“What's up there, Lance? A UFO?” Keith asked sarcastically, even though he wouldn't even be that surprised if there really  _ was _ one. 

“No, just--” he crouched down, set his hat down next to him, and laid down on his back.

“What... are you doing?” Keith deadpanned.

“Just-- come down here.” Lance beckoned Keith with both his hands.

Keith rolled his eyes and bent down, laying flat on his back next to him. Keith rested his hands on his stomach and looked over at him expectantly. Lance didn't look back. His eyes were transfixed on the dark sky.

“Look up,” he whispered. Lance pointed up to the night sky, and Keith's eyes followed his finger.  "See that? That's Orion's belt. And that's Gemini, and Taurus... and if you look hard enough you can see Sirius."   
Keith squinted up at the sky.   
"Do you see it?" Lance asked.   
Keith shook his head.   
"Here--" Lance scooted closer to him, so their heads were touching, and took Keith's hand to point up to the sky. "Riiiight there. See it now?"

  
Keith blushed, looked over at him and nodded, even though he hadn't even seen it. Lance looked ethereal-- his eyes were reflecting the stars, or maybe the stars were reflecting him. 

Lance let go of his hand, and Keith rested his hand back on his stomach again, shaking his head.   
"How do you know so much about this stuff?" 

  
"When I was a kid…” He licked his lips. “When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut. I learned just about everything I could about space-- I watched the moon landing every morning while I ate breakfast, used all my allowances and birthday money to save up for a telescope, watched space documentaries, that sort of thing-- so that I'd be ready when the time came to get into the space program… Of course, little did I know at the time they weren't even sending people anymore. I was 12 when I found out, I think.”

Keith suppressed a smile. “What did you want to be after you found out?”

Lance did a sort of cough-laugh.

“What?” Keith looked over at him; he had a hand over his face.

“It's incredibly embarrassing.”

“Now you  _ have _ to tell me.”

“Um, okay, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“No.”

Lance folded his arms and glared at him, and Keith put his hands up. “Fine, fine, I promise.”

“I wanted to be…” he shook his head. “I don't think I can say it, it's that bad.”

“Oh my god, just say it already--”

“ _ I wanted to be a princess! _ ” Lance blurted, then covered his face with his hands. “I wanted to be… a princess.”

Keith couldn't help it-- he broke out laughing.

“Okay, okay,” Lance said, pushing Keith, who just rolled over, still cackling. “Okay just let me explain myself--”

Keith wrapped his arms around his stomach, nearly crying.

“You said you wouldn't laugh!”

“I'm sorry, I--” Keith wiped a tear from his eye, giggling. “I'm done, I'm done. Please. Explain.”

“Well... you know Princess Peach?”

Keith stifled a laugh. “I'm familiar.”

“Well, as a kid, I always thought her umbrella was like, really cool.”

Keith couldn't help it, he broke out laughing again. Lance shoved him, giggling, and he rolled over then rolled back, nearly crying.

“Oh, c'mon,” Lance scoffed, grinning, “I'm sure you were an equally weird kid.”

Keith wiped a tear from his cheek. “Uh, I don't think so.”

“C'mon, there must've been  _ something _ weird you did as a kid. I mean, you're weird now, so _ - _ -”

“ _ Hey,”  _ Keith punched his shoulder lightly, but Lance just giggled.

  
"Seriously though,” Lance smiled, “what did you want to be when you were young?"

  
Keith shrugged, smiling softly. "I don't know, I guess what every kid wants to be... a superhero, a fireman, a ghost--"

  
"Wait a second, hold up--" Lance interrupted, laughing and propping himself up on his elbow to look down at Keith. "A  _ ghost _ ?"

  
Keith shrugged again. "Yeah. You know, like Casper." 

Lance cracked up, falling down flat on the grass again, a hand to his head.

“What?” He turned to Lance, who was still laughing. "You're telling me you've never wanted to be a ghost before?"

  
"Uh, no."

  
"Not even after that Casper movie? Ya know, like the one where he turns into a human and he's, like, super hot?"

  
"Oh my god, Keith." Lance snorted. "No offence, but you were a weird kid."

  
"It's not that weird to want be a hot ghost, Lance."

  
Lance laughed again, and Keith hit him in the shoulder.    
Lance, still giggling a little, turned back to the stars.  After a while he made a sort of  _ hunh _ noise in his throat.

  
"What?" Keith asked.

  
"Do you think we would've been friends? As kids, I mean?"

“I don't know, maybe...” Keith shrugged. “Either that or I would hate your guts.”

  
“Are those your only two modes?” Lance asked, chuckling.

“Pretty much,” Keith said.

“Well,” Lance said, rolling his eyes, “ _ I  _ think we would've been the best of friends.”

Keith bit his lip. "I wish…”

“What?”

“I wish knew you when I was young."

“Me too.”

  
A few minutes passed before Keith spoke up again.

  
"Lance?"

  
"Hmm?"

  
"Thanks for inviting me. I've never really been to a party before. You…” Keith picked at a speck of dirt underneath his fingernail subconsciously, “You guys are the first friends I've ever had."

  
"Not even as a little kid?"

  
Keith bit his lip. "No."

  
"Huh."

  
Keith shifted uncomfortably in the grass. "What?"

  
"I just... I guess I've never needed to go out and look for friends, ya know? I've always had my siblings and like a billion cousins, and they were like, I don't know… built-in friends."

  
"Must've been nice," Keith sighed.

  
"Yeah, I guess. I hadn't ever really thought of it before."

  
They both turned their attention back up to the sky.

“...Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Serious question.”

“Okay.”

“If you could die in any way, what would it be?”

Keith almost laughed. “Fuck, I don't know. Why do you ask?”

“I was just thinking about it.”

Keith looked over at him. “How would you want it?”

“I don't know... I just wanna die in a cool way, you know? Something that makes people go ‘that guy really _lived.’_ When I go, I wanna go out with a bang,” he said, his hands gesticulating in front of him. “Like… a skydiving accident. Those are always cool. Or maybe a jewel heist gone wrong or something, I don’t know.”

“A jewel heist?”

“What? It’s a good way to go.”

Keith laughed, shaking his head. 

“Don't laugh, you didn't even answer the question. How do you want to die?”

“Probably just in my sleep.”

“Boring.”

“It's not  _ boring _ , it's  _ peaceful _ .”

“What about after you're dead?”

“What, like, the afterlife?”

“What? No.” Lance shook his head. “Like... buried or cremated?”

Keith eyed Lance. “Why all these questions? Are you gonna kill me or something?”

“No,” Lance laughed. “I'm just curious.”

“Well, I don't wanna be buried. That's for sure.”

“Why not?”

“The idea of me, trapped in a box, underground, surrounded by a bunch of old guys…" Keith shuddered, "That does  _ not _ sound appealing.”

“Guys  _ and  _ ladies, Keith. Don't be sexist.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I just know I don't want to be put in the ground… what about you?”

“I think I wanna be buried under a tree. But not just  _ any _ tree. It's gotta be a good one. Heaven knows I will  _ not  _ spend eternity under some scraggly-ass tree... I really have to travel more, find the perfect one, ya know?”

Keith nodded.

Lance suppressed a giggle. “Hey Keith--when you die, you can finally live your dream of being a hot ghost.”

Keith pushed him and he rolled over, both of them laughing. “Shut up.”

They both looked up to the sky again.

  
"The stars look really beautiful tonight," Keith heard Lance whisper.

  
Keith nodded.

  
“You know what else looks beautiful?”

Keith blushed, a bubble of hope rising in his stomach.

Lance flopped on his side, propping his chin on his elbow and grinning. “Me.”

“Oh my  _ God.” _ Keith pushed him and he toppled over in the grass, cackling.

They both sat up, Lance giggling and Keith trying to suppress his laughter and scowl instead.

“You are so  _ annoying, _ ” Keith said, rolling his eyes.

“Come on, I know you secretly love it,” Lance grinned.

Keith shook his head. “Uh, no. Pretty sure I hate you.”

Lance looked down at the grass, his laugh fading. “C'mon, you don't really hate me... do you?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “No, I guess not.”

Lance looked back up at Keith, attempting to hide his grin by biting his lip.

“You're...” Keith licked his lips, grinning,“you're actually kind of nice when you're not being a total ass.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” Lance laughed.

“I'm _ kidding.” _

Lance locked eyes with Keith. Keith hadn't realized how close they were until now. Just a few inches closer and their noses would be touching.

“Can I, uh, ask you something?” Keith asked, then bit his lip.

  
“Anything.”

  
“Why do you even hang out with me?”

  
“Cause I like you,  _ obviously _ .”

  
“Yeah, but that's the thing, Lance. People don't usually like me.”

  
Lance shook his head in indignation. “That can't be true.”

  
“It  _ is _ .”

  
“People like you, Keith... Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, Allura. They all like you.”

  
Keith shook his head and looked down at the grass. “Maybe.”

  
“Keith,” Lance said sternly. Keith looked up at him. 

“...I like you.”

  
“That doesn't count.”

  
Lance winced. "I count.”

  
“That's not what I meant.”

  
“I know,” Lance said, visibly blushing. “But I count.”

  
Lance's pinkie touched his in the grass. Keith froze.

“Keith…”

  
Lance drifted forward an inch, his hand fully on Keith's now. 

_ Oh shit, Oh God. Shit fuck crap. _   
Lance leaned forward even closer, their noses now touching.

It felt like his whole body was going into panic mode, red lights flashing, alarms blaring--   
_ Red Alert Red Alert! Lips are about to make contact! _   
Keith clenched his fist.

“I count. And so do you,” Lance whispered.

  
And then Lance's lips were on his. Lance cupped his face, the other hand still on Keith's hand.

_ He was kissing Lance. _ Lance McClain. The boy he had wanted to kiss for months had kissed him.  _ Him _ .   
Shit.    
_ Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. _

Lance was kissing him _. _

And Keith was  _ totally  _ kissing him back.

 

Keith had never been drunk before, but he was positive that this was what it would feel like. The kiss was solely on his lips, but he could feel it everywhere else, too-- he felt it in his ribs, in his knees, in his spine-- and he never wanted it to stop.

Lance put a hand on Keith's waist and tilted his head, simultaneously squeezing Keith's hand. 

Keith leaned into him and opened his mouth.  He was already fully pressed up against Lance but  _ god _ , he just wanted to keep  _ leaning _ . It just felt so  _ right. _ So perfectly right.

 

_ You shouldn't be leaning _ , Keith thought at himself.  _ You should be running the fuck away _ .

_ No, I think I'll just keep leaning, thank you very much. _

All of a sudden something grabbed at Keith's stomach and clenched it-- that little anxiety ball was back, full throttle.

_ Hey, asshole, _ Keith thought at himself,  _ I thought you were gone. _

_ You won't get rid of me that easy, sucker. _

_ God,  _ Keith thought _ , why did his insides have to be such annoying little pricks? _

They were probably right though, what the hell was Keith  _ doing _ ?

_ And fuck, was his throat closing up? _

Lance's hand slid down to Keith's hips, and his stomach lurched.

Keith pulled away and their lips parted momentarily, noses still touching. "I-- I can't breathe," Keith half-whispered, grasping on to Lance's shirt for balance.

  
"You take my breath away too," Lance giggled. He leaned in again, but Keith pushed away from him.

  
"No, I mean I literally can't breathe," Keith wheezed, a hand to his throat. 

  
"Holy crow--" Lance tried to look Keith in the eyes and grabbed both his hands, but Keith pulled them away. He could hardly stand to look at him, actually; Lance was beautiful and blushing furiously and had little black marks on his nose and cheeks from where Keith's cat makeup had smudged off onto his face. “Do you have asthma or--”

  
“No, I-- Oh God,” He stood up, and Lance stood up with him, a hand on his back. "I think-- I think I'm gonna throw up."

  
Keith put his hands on his knees, and tried to breathe deeply. God, this was so embarrassing.

  
"Oh, okay, um," Lance said, shocked, "Let's just get you to the bathroom--" 

  
It was too late. 

Keith bent over, and threw up protein bar all over Lance's grass lawn and his shoes. 

  
"Oh, fuck." Keith mumbled, putting his head in his hands. God, this was  _ all wrong _ .    
_ Wow, Keith _ , he thought,  _ you're such a romantic. _ He could see the buzzfeed article now: How to make your romance blossom in 3 easy steps; You won't believe step #3!    
Step 1: kiss him.   
Step 2: throw up in his backyard.   
Step 3: wish you were never born.

  
Keith looked up at Lance, who was looking down at the vomit in shock.

“ _ Christ _ ,” Lance breathed heavily, covering a hand over his mouth and looking like he might just be sick himself.

Keith shook his head. “I'm--” Lance looked up at him and  _ fuck, _ Keith hated seeing him like that. Worried and sad and confused.  _ And probably disgusted _ , Keith reminded himself _. _

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_. He was already backing away from Lance.

  
"Keith, wait, I'm sorry--" Lance took a step toward him, an arm outstretched, but Keith didn't even let him finish. He had already swung open the door and ran inside.

  
Keith bumped into people as he moved his way through the crowd. He could feel tears start to sting his eyes, and he blinked them back, grimacing.

  
" _ Keith! _ " He heard Lance's voice rise above the music. He sounded worried. _Oh, God_. 

  
Keith stumbled out the front door, ignoring the drunken yells following him out and scrambled to his motorcycle, putting on his helmet and revving the engine. He heard the squeak of the front door as it opened, but Keith didn't look. 

  
" _ Keith, wait _ \--"

  
He was gone.   
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! The two songs in this chapter are "Wish I Knew You" by the Revivalists and "Closer" by Tegan and Sara.  
> Sorry it took so long for me to update!  
> Hope you liked this chapter, and stay tuned :)  
> I'll be posting the next chapter soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you stay tuned, more klancey things are coming up! :)


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